


Drowning in Me

by spicywatson



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Heavy Drinking, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Mild Sexual Content, Post 3x14, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, side babitha is amazing ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 07:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19988020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicywatson/pseuds/spicywatson
Summary: Ed and Oswald try to move on together after their confrontation at the docks (post 3x14).





	1. steal the air out of my lungs

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure you read the tags! This is the heaviest angst I've ever written so please be careful!

There’s a song that echoes in Ed’s head from time to time. So heavenly, so divine. The music is faint, but he can swear it’s Oswald’s voice, drifting through the air, floating like a downy feather. In his dreams, Oswald is often there, bathed in red light and sharply dressed in black, that hauntingly beautiful song whispering in Ed’s ears.

_He's fierce in my dreams, seizing my guts_

It’s been three months. Ed can still feel the strong wind tangling his hair, the sprinkle of rain misting his skin. The cold, solid weight of the gun in his hands. He regretted it the instant he pulled the trigger.

But he doesn’t wake up alone. Oswald’s warm body is right there, tucked into Ed’s own. Alive and breathing. Sometimes Ed holds him close as they sleep, arms wrapped tightly around him, a reminder that he’s really here.

During those few harrowing nights that Oswald was in the hospital, the doctors reminded Ed repeatedly that he needed to be prepared. Dreading the answer (and unwilling to hear it), Ed asked them for what. They delicately responded that Oswald might not make it. Surviving a hole torn through the stomach is a tricky thing.

As they operated on Oswald, Ed anxiously replayed the moment over and over in his mind. Biting winds chilling his bones, stiffening his limbs. He remembers diving into the horrid icy river, dark water tugging at his clothing. Searching and searching through the depths, following the billowing trail of blood. Finally, _finally_ latching onto his bound wrists, dragging him back up to the surface. Water dripping on the concrete. Trying, struggling to breathe life back into him.

But Oswald pulled through, Ed clasping his hand tightly as he recovered. A miracle, hard to believe but true nonetheless.

Together they set to rebuilding their relationship, a little rocky at first but gradually moving on from what they had done to each other. This is somewhat difficult for Ed.

Sometimes he wakes up to the startling burst of a gunshot. An excruciating ringing fills his ears as he fumbles around in the dark, heart pounding erratically as he searches for the lamp. When he flicks the light on, the quiet stillness of the night washes over him, the ringing fading fast. He reaches over to give Oswald’s shoulder a gentle shake. And another. A third. Ed’s breathing comes quicker and he frantically turns Oswald over to face him. A deep scarlet stain is spread across his pajama shirt front. The kind of stain that’s so difficult to clean that it’s nearly impossible. Did Oswald have wine before bed?

A nauseating metallic smell fills Ed’s nose, stings his eyes, clings to his clothes. Not the familiar, warm spicy-sweet scent of Oswald’s favorite vintage.

Ed screams and screams when he realizes.

This is not the first of such incidents.

He makes love to Oswald one night. Tender and passionate. He thinks of it as a kind of apology, or at least a way to prove to Oswald that he means everything to him. Ed touches him gently, kisses him softly. Breathes his love into him. But then Oswald starts gasping and spluttering underneath him, choking on dark river water, the inky liquid mixing with the deep red blood that soon gushes from his mouth. “No, no, no,” Ed gasps, taking Oswald’s face in his hands. His lips are pale blue and his eyes flutter closed. A slick redness blooms across his stomach, the sickening metallic smell filling Ed’s nose and twisting his insides. He fights the urge to gag. “Oh god, Oswald!” he sobs, patting Oswald’s cheek. Cold skin. “Oswald, look at me!” Black water rises up around them, soaking through the bed sheets, chilling Ed to the bone. Oswald is dead.

A shaky kiss pressed to icy lips. His forehead against Oswald’s. Gasping sobs fill the silence. Frigid dock water rushes over Oswald’s face, pulling him further and further away from Ed. All Ed can do is cup Oswald’s face with trembling hands and weep uncontrollably.

It doesn’t feel the same as it did when Isabella died.

_He floats me with dread._

Oswald’s eyes fly open. Ed gasps, not in relief, but in terror. They’re a deathly, milky white, rimmed in red. Bubbles well up in the rippling water as Oswald tries to speak, tries to scream. Ed stumbles away. Presses his hands over his ears, squeezes his eyes shut.

“Edward? Ed can you hear me?” His muffled voice drifts closer.

Ed resurfaces. Finds that he’s curled up in the corner of their bedroom, completely naked and trembling. The oil-like water has all drained away. Oswald, loosely wrapped in the bedsheets, kneels before him, stroking his face, trying to bring him back. He wraps his own robe around Ed’s shoulders to give him at least a little dignity.

“I’m sorry,” is all Ed manages to choke out. Oswald holds him close, stroking his damp hair and dropping comforting kisses to his temple. It always helps, Ed thinks, to have the one you love make it all better.

But it would be a lie to say that things are always perfect between them.

Some days all Oswald does is scream and rage and cry. He’s angry at Ed for doing this to him, angry at the city for taking everything from him. He often paces around the house, shoulders tense and body trembling with restrained rage until finally he’s unable to hold it in any longer. Sometimes Ed gives him space, other times he talks him through it and gently removes broken glass from his bleeding palms.

And then there are times that Ed can’t help but yell back at him. He often says things he regrets, things that make Oswald completely shut down, curl in on himself, seek solitude.

_Maybe I should have left you there._

_You killed the only person I have ever loved._

_We would be better off without each other._

When they separate after a fight like this, Ed breathing heavily and Oswald crying silently, it doesn’t take long for the guilt to set in. Ed slaps himself, curses himself for hurting Oswald so badly. He’ll go and smooth things over, holding Oswald as he whispers apologies. Kissing his tears away, salt on his lips. Oswald forgives him every time.

Some days are better than others, especially as of late. Ed’s been happier, his heart lighter as he and Oswald gradually find their footing around each other and settle into their domesticity. Oswald is sweeter too, being more openly affectionate with Ed. His heart’s warmed again, thawed from the frozen dock water. He no longer drowns at night in a pool of blackened blood, no longer chokes and bleeds as Ed makes love to him. Ed breathes for the first time in a long time. 

This morning feels so impossibly _normal,_ as if nothing had ever changed between them. They’re like a real couple, in love and completely devoted to one another. It all feels so domestic. So _beautiful._

As he waits for the coffee to brew, Oswald sways gently to some silent tune, unaware of how Ed gazes adoringly at him. The percolator finishes and Oswald pours them each a cup of the steaming drink, its robust scent filling Ed’s lungs and making his mouth water. Oswald passes Ed his mug and then takes to pouring far too much sugar into his own coffee.

“Don’t forget your medication, my dear,” Oswald says warmly, offering him his box of pills. “You don’t want him to come back,” he presses a kiss to Ed’s temple and fondly grazes his hand along his shoulders as he goes off in search of breakfast. Oswald is right about the pills. Remarkably, Riddler has made minimal appearances since Ed started taking them, leaving him to enjoy his new life with Oswald in peace. He happily crushes one between his teeth.

Ed finds himself smiling affectionately once again as he watches Oswald search the cupboards, getting up on his tip-toes to peer inside each one. Without thinking, he slips from his chair and steps towards him, wrapping his arms tightly around him from behind, enveloping him in a crushing hug. Oswald gives a soft squeak of surprise as he is pulled back against Ed’s body. Ed buries his nose into his hair and just breathes him in. Rich, spicy wine and sweet pomegranate. Incredible. Unmistakeable.

_Pour myself over him_

“I love you,” he whispers, once his lungs are full of that beautiful scent lingering in Oswald’s hair.

Oswald’s chest rumbles as he laughs. “Priceless to two. I love you, Eddie.” He tilts his head back to cast a sweet smile at him.

Ed meets him in the middle, planting a warm kiss on his lips. He parts from Oswald, beaming, but his grin fades as he remembers today’s itinerary. “Listen, Oswald. There’s something we need to do today…” Oswald pulls away, curious. “You’re not gonna like it.” 

Oswald’s beautiful features twist as he frowns.

“Just trust me, okay?”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Oswald grumbles the whole way to the club, warning Ed repeatedly that a “friendly chat” with the Sirens is not a piece of cake. Ed silently endures Oswald’s scolding up until the moment they step through the double doors.

“Back already?” Barbara’s glittering figure comes into view as she throws aside the velvet curtains and struts closer. Her extravagant gold and silver dress suggests she’s been spending a little more money than usual, not that she was ever a thrifty shopper.

“I see you’re settling into your role as Queen of Gotham,” Ed says with a false grin, looking her up and down. Oswald scoffs.

She pats her perfectly-coiffed hair and flutters her eyelashes. “Seems Gotham is thriving now that it has a woman’s touch.” Barbara examines her sharp red nails as if waiting for Ed to continue the conversation. 

“I feel we may have… left off on the wrong foot.” An itching sensation gnaws at his insides. 

“Ed, sweetie,” Barbara begins, her voice a smooth, poisonous honey, “you sure that’s the only reason you’re here?” She winks.

Ed furrows his brow. _Had Riddler been here?_ “Just came to smooth things over.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Forgive me if my loyalty was a little shaky. I had a lot on my mind,” he glances at Oswald.

Barbara follows his gaze but is silent. Ed can practically see the gears turning in her head as she tries to decide if he’s trustworthy. Finally her eyes brighten again and she waves a hand dismissively. “Water under the bridge!” 

Oswald tugs his arm. “Edward,” he hisses, “she is a WITCH, are you seriously going to just take her word for it?”

“I can hear you,” Barbara snaps.

“Oswald, it’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Oswald sneers, glaring back at her. 

“You really don’t trust me?” Barbara pouts her lip.

“Sorry, it’s just- I’m careful about where I place my trust. So is Oswald.” 

Barbara makes a noise of disgust, not bothering to hide her disdain towards Penguin. “Well, whatever. Now that Ozzie’s off the throne…”

“Who says I’m off the throne?!”

Barbara rolls her eyes but continues on. “Listen, Ed, this was the plan: you and me rule Gotham together. Remember? Why are you still obsessing over your boy toy?”

“I am _not_ his-”

“He’s not my boy toy,” Ed bites back.

Before Barbara can throw a scathing response, Tabitha strides in briskly, gun leveled between Ed’s eyes. His heart jumps and nearly stops. “Sweet dreams, Nygma,” she hisses.

“Whoa, Tabitha, honey!” Barbara throws her arm out to stop her girlfriend from blowing Ed’s brains out. “It’s under control. We’re gonna rule this city with him.”

Ed makes a noise of protest and throws up his hands. “Wait- Tabitha’s ruling with us?” 

“I’m not leaving my girlfriend out,” Barbara narrows her eyes at him.

“Why can’t Oswald rule too?”

“Do I really have to answer that?”

“Barbara, why do we even need him? Let’s just off him right now. Get it done and over with,” Tabitha watches Ed with a malicious glint in her eyes. He tosses her an equally searing look.

Barbara sighs and takes one of Tabitha’s hands. “Baby, he’s smart. Like wicked smart. It could come in handy.”

“ _You’re_ smart, Babs.”

Barbara giggles and blushes before leaning forward and giving Tabitha a long, obnoxious kiss. Ed sucks in a breath and rolls his eyes. The thought of trying to rule a city with these two makes him consider tearing his own hair out. But then again, Ed’s got something else in mind, a plan he has yet to share even with Oswald.

“I’ll be back again. We can put a plan together,” Ed takes Oswald’s hand and starts for the exit. 

Barbara pulls away from her girlfriend, wiping Tabitha’s smeared lipstick off her mouth with her thumb. “Oh, and Ed? Let me know if you… want anything,” she quirks an eyebrow.

Ed leaves with an unsettling feeling in his stomach and Oswald’s nails clawing at his arm. He anxiously pulls out the little tin in his pocket and pops a pill into his mouth.

He misses how Barbara turns to Tabitha and sneers, “As if I really need the likes of him to rule this city. Get ready. It’ll be time soon.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

“You are _clearly_ being played.”

“I know,” Ed smiles and combs his fingers through Oswald’s soaked hair.

“We should have killed them then and there, when we had the-”

Ed continues stroking through his hair until Oswald melts into him, almost purring as he slides further down into the steaming bathwater. This was Oswald’s idea, to enjoy a nice hot soak together, complete with rose and lily petals that leave a sweet fragrance in the water. Ed’s not entirely opposed to it. He finds that he likes holding Oswald in this way, Oswald’s body pressed against his front, warm skin against his own and his nose in Oswald’s hair.

Now that Oswald is soft and pliable in his arms, Ed continues. “Before the… _incident,_ ” he sighs, not wanting to fully address the day at the docks, “Barbara told me we could rule together. Me and her. She thinks I fell for that nonsense. And now, I just ensured her trust in me.”

“Did you?” Oswald mumbles dreamily, losing himself in the warm water and Ed’s embrace.

Ed drops a kiss into his hair. “She definitely thinks I’m dumb enough to believe I could be King,” he snorts, “but it buys us some time to get our action plan together.”

“Hmmm?”

“If we can eliminate those two, we can take over the throne. Together.”

“Kings of Gotham,” Oswald murmurs, his voice full of wonder, “I’d like that.”

The thought of actually ruling the city with the love of his life by his side sends sparks through Ed’s veins. To make that dream a reality would surely send him into shock, so that he’s unable to tell whether or not he’s fallen into delusion. A beautiful, wonderful fantasy.

A wild idea pops into his head one day. It’s impractical, idyllic, entirely a leap of faith. But it’s the best thought Ed’s had all week. He’s completely underprepared for this but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t try to hide the bright smile that spreads across his face, burning his cheeks with blazing heat.

Ed snatches his coat and slips it on excitedly. He’s taking Oswald to the docks.

\-------------------------------------------------------

When they pull up to the pier, gravel crunching under the tires and seagulls screeching overhead, there’s a moment of unease. Ed isn’t sure if he can really do this. Not only carry out his _plan,_ but return to this place that wounded them both so badly. Still, he presses on (mostly for Oswald’s sake), stepping out of the car and into the salty breeze.

“What are we doing here, Ed?” Oswald raises a suspicious eyebrow as he circles around to face him. He’s wildly beautiful, with the wind whipping at his jet black hair and the sun sparkling in his green eyes. He flutters his lashes expectantly, silently urging Ed to speak.

Ed reaches forward and takes his hands. Oswald is taken aback for a moment. “We’re making better memories here,” he says with a smile.

The corners of Oswald’s lips twist and those stunning eyes twinkle. “Well, aren’t you an old romantic,” he teases. “So, what exactly are we doing here to create those memories?”

“I have just one thing to say to you.”

“Oh?” Oswald grins, bouncing a little on his toes.

This is it. Ed takes a deep breath. “Oswald,” he strokes a thumb over his cheek, “I want you to marry me.” Adrenaline bursts in his veins as he finally says those words.

Oswald goes completely still, hands stiffening in Ed’s. “Edward,” he says sadly, gently, “how long did you think this could last?” The rushing wind in his ears is so much louder now, almost deafening. The pounding beat of his heart is there too, pulsing in his ears, in his temple, becoming more frantic by the second.

“What- What are you talking about? Oswald, you’re the love of my life… you’re my everything!” He’s desperate, pleading. Oswald steps away from him, out of reach. It feels like he’s sinking further away from his heart.

Oswald pulls something from his pocket, holds it up. Something small and silver, glinting so brightly in the sun that Ed can’t see it. He steps closer. There’s a strange feeling coiling in his gut. 

“How did you-” Ed pats his own pockets. His box of pills is no longer there.

“It’s empty, my love,” Oswald gives the silver box a little shake. No rattling of pills. Oswald sighs heavily and tosses the empty box aside carelessly. When he meets Ed’s gaze again, there’s a coldness in his eyes, sharp green ice crystals boring into Ed as he watches him.

“Oswald-” Ed’s eyes sting. It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe. 

“Darling,” Oswald flashes him a wide, poisonous smile, “what did you think this was? Did you really think we could run off, have a white wedding, spend the rest of our lives together?”

Ed’s stomach drops. A bright redness bursts from Oswald’s stomach and dark blood blossoms across his body, sinking into the fabric of his beautiful suit. Crimson staining purple pinstripe. “Oswald!” he gasps, eyes widening in horror. He dashes towards him and hurriedly pulls at his clothing, unbuttoning his coat and his vest to find a deep, gaping wound. But Oswald doesn’t react as if he’s been shot.

Oswald grins and stretches his arms out theatrically. “Surprise!”

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” Ed’s voice quivers frantically. He shoves his glasses further up his nose in a nervous response.

“You’re insane!” Oswald shouts, eyes bright and wild.

“No, no-”

Oswald tilts his head and feigns a look of sympathy. “Oh honey, what did you think those pills were for?”

“For him- they got rid of _him-_ ”

“Who, little old me?”

Ed’s heart seizes. Riddler circles around him like a panther before sauntering over to Oswald. He strokes a hand through Oswald’s inky black hair before throwing his arm over his shoulders. Oswald practically purrs from the attention.

“Listen, sweetheart,” Riddler begins in a voice smooth and condescending, “you couldn’t stand the fact that you’d killed your best buddy here,” he leans down and presses a lingering kiss to Oswald’s temple, “so I decided to help you out a bit.”

Ed shakes his head in confusion. There’s a crawling feeling under his skin, a sense that he knows what’s happening, but he’s willfully denying it. Swallowing it down like a bitter pill.

Riddler huffs and rolls his eyes. “Your meds? Got ‘em from Barbara.” _Oh, and Ed? Let me know if you… want anything._ He grins slyly, taking Oswald’s hand, “The rest… well, you already know the rest.”

“Wh- no, no, I saved you, Oswald! I pulled you out of the river! That was real!” Ed is desperate now, desperate to understand, desperate to make things okay again. His sore throat squeezes. “We spent three months together, Oswald! You were there, that was real!” Oswald only frowns in response.

“If it’s worth anything, Ed, I’m sorry. For both our sakes,” Riddler says solemnly, his eyes losing their haughty sparkle. “Losing him was hard on me too. But it’s time to move on.” Oswald lets go of Riddler’s hand and slips out of reach, heading towards the pier’s edge.

“Oswald, wait!” Ed sobs. But Oswald continues on, staggering to the end of the dock, a trail of red dripping along his path. He doesn’t look back as he steps off the edge, falling into frosted fog and frigid water.

_The dark covers me, and I cannot run now_

_My blood running cold_

All the air is sucked out of Ed’s lungs. His knees hit the concrete. That familiar cold wind laces through his hair, and the light rain speckles his glasses just as before. 

_And I wake up alone._

There’s a brokenness. The only thing he can really feel right now. Whatever is left in his chest fractures once more, piercing his lungs, bleeding him out from the inside. His heart is in the water, heavy and still. It stopped beating when his love slipped away to his death.

Oswald doesn’t sing anymore.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Every day is the same. Ed wakes up at precisely the same time every morning and allows himself one piece of toast. He drags himself to his work, trying to plot against Barbara and Tabitha, but his heart’s not really in it. Sometimes he spends hours just sitting, staring. Not even lost in thought. He goes to sleep again as soon as he can, hating every hour that he’s awake. Unable to return to the mansion, Ed found the keys to his old apartment and has since settled in there, hardly ever leaving save for the times he’s so desperate for a scrap of food. It’s quiet here, too quiet, but at least he doesn’t see Oswald’s belongings. Oswald’s favorite robe, hung on the bedpost, never to be worn again, his clutter of hair products in the bathroom, his beautiful cane leaning on the end table. Ed continues his pointless, dull routine for countless weeks, barely breathing, barely thinking. 

Until one day in particular. The doorbell buzzes twice in the same afternoon.

Ed doesn’t bother to put his glasses on. Whoever’s there, they’re not who he wants to see. He throws the door open and finds a familiar figure, shorter than him, muscular, standing in his trademark hands-on-hips pose.

Jim’s face twists as he looks Ed up and down, taking in his mussed hair, his thin, unshaven face, and his rumpled clothing. Ed unconsciously pulls his robe tighter around himself as Jim’s nose crinkles. “Jesus, you look terrible,” he finally mutters.

“What do you want, James,” Ed grumbles, not even bothering to meet his eyes and instead fixating on a spot over his shoulder.

Jim at last drags his attention away from Ed’s disheveled form. “I’m… looking for Oswald,” he furrows his brow, like he’s concerned. As if he ever really gave a damn about Oswald. A burning rage bubbles under Ed’s skin, but he’s too weak, too tired to react.

“Okay?”

“Figured he might be here…”

“He’s not.”

“I already checked the mansion, it’s dead quiet. Any thoughts on where I can-”

Ed waves his hand to stop him. “Jimbo, Oswald’s gone. Don’t think he’s coming back,” Ed’s voice cracks and he chokes down a sob.

“Bad breakup?” Jim asks, lips curling into a sneer. 

That’s the final straw. Ed latches onto the door handle and slides it shut with a crash. It echoes all throughout his small apartment. Reminds him how empty it is, how lonely he is. He sinks down to the floor, back against cold, solid metal.

Oswald would surely get a kick out of seeing Ed slam a door shut in Jim Gordon’s face. He smiles a bit at that.

Eventually he gets up again, shuffles back to the dining table and slumps into the chair. He half-heartedly reviews the blueprints for his bomb, which he had planned to detonate inside the Siren’s Club. It was a scheme he and Oswald were going to execute together. He finds that the thought doesn’t thrill him anymore.

_Buzzzz_

Ed grumbles and heads towards the door. If this is Jim again, the GCPD might just mysteriously lose their beloved captain.

He’s greeted by the blurry face of Lucius Fox.

“Is this an intervention or something?” Ed asks dully. Lucius doesn’t answer, although he seems entirely confused. Ed sighs. “You’re not the first to- Jim came by too. Earlier. Today,” Ed manages, gesturing awkwardly with his hands in an attempt to form a coherent thought. His mind is so fuzzy, heavy from sleep and stress.

“Believe it or not, Ed, I actually consider you a friend,” Lucius says simply, raising his eyebrows. “I was worried about you, I came to check on you.”

Ed scoffs but moves aside, allowing the man to step into his apartment. After taking a moment to critically examine Ed’s rooms, paying special attention to the bright neon green question mark on the wall, Lucius speaks again. “I hear Penguin’s missing,” he begins slowly.

Ed bites into his cheek.

“You haven’t-”

There’s that question again, the one that makes Ed want to claw at his hair and scream. He levels his glare at Lucius, who gives him an apologetic look. After some uncomfortable silence, Ed decides he owes Lucius at least some part of the truth, especially considering that he’s extending an olive branch and calling Ed a friend. “I don’t think Oswald is breathing anymore,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh,” Lucius responds softly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know you two were close.”

Ed dips his head and nods. He squeezes his eyes shut when they begin to sting a little.

“I gotta admit: I liked Penguin. He was _insane,_ but I can’t deny he had style. Always got the job done.”

Ed smiles sadly. “Yeah, Oswald was something else.” he can already feel the tears sliding down his cheeks.

Lucius clears his throat, his reminiscent grin fading. “Listen, Ed. You shouldn’t be alone when you’re grieving. Things can get pretty dark but you’ll make it through if you have someone to talk to,” he hands Ed a slip of paper with a number scribbled on it. “Don’t hesitate to call me.”

Ed gingerly takes the paper and nods as Lucius turns towards the door. He checks the phone number, commits it to memory almost immediately. He doesn’t plan on using it.

It’s deathly quiet when Lucius leaves. Worse than before. The air is completely still, the eye of the storm.

_Oswald should be here._

It doesn’t take long before Ed is screaming, screaming until his lungs burn and his throat scalds and tears sting in his eyes. _Oswald smiling at him, eyes bright and loving._ He rips at his hair, beats at the walls until his bones feel like they’ve shattered. _Little kisses pressed into his shoulder._ Sends his beakers crashing to the floor, flips over his dining table. _There’s something I need to tell you._ Glass and wood splinters everywhere. When it’s not enough, he snatches a crowbar from under his bed.

He’s about to do something he’ll regret.

_Oswald smiling, laughing._

He brings the crowbar down hard, shattering the black and white keys. They clatter around his feet.

_Ed’s own laugh is bright as he sings._

He strikes again.

_His fingers play a pleasant melody._

He beats the piano relentlessly, the instrument cracking under the weight of his blows, its keys crushed to jagged pieces. His face is hot, his breathing heavy. Blind rage. He can’t stop, just keeps hitting the piano over and over, pulverizing it, grinding memories to dust. 

_That’s all I have left now. Memories. And they’re like daggers in my heart._

Like cracked piano keys under his feet.

It finally fractures, splitting into two. He strikes the broken pieces until his arms ache. Throws the crowbar as hard as he can.

“WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME, OSWALD?” Ed shrieks with every single ounce of power he has left. It echoes off the walls, screaming back at him. He collapses to the floor as heaving sobs wrack his body.

There’s a presence over his shoulder. For once, Riddler is silent.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Ed doesn’t bother to put his apartment back in order. Shattered glass and broken ivory piano keys crunch underneath his shoes. His memories beaten down but still lingering. A life destined for disaster and death. This is what he deserves.

He crawls into bed, exhaustion weighing heavy on his whole body, and is out like a light within minutes. Sleeps for what feels like days, mind blank and dreams empty.

When he wakes, there’s a deep ache in his chest and a soreness in his throat. He can barely force his eyes open.

“Good morning, sugar plum.”

Oh god. Ed releases a shaky exhale, trying to will the tension from his body.

“Come on, sweetheart. Up up up,” Riddler casts him a sly smile from his place leaning on the bedpost.

Ed rubs his swollen eyes with the heel of his palm. “What do you want?”

“I think,” with a finger touched to his chin, Riddler feigns giving his idea some serious consideration, “I think we need to shake things up.” 

Ed groans.

“Listen, our beloved Ozzie isn’t coming back. I know, I know, I love him too, miss him like crazy,” Riddler puts up his hands, “but sitting around here isn’t going to change any of that.”

“What are you suggesting,” Ed deadpans, running his fingers through his unkempt hair and heaving a sigh.

“I am suggesting… we have a little fun. Go out, get some drinks,” he quirks an eyebrow, “get laid.”

“No.” Before Riddler can even begin to pout at his answer, Ed continues. “Oswald is gone,” his voice wavers, “he’ll never have the chance to have a good time, so I don’t deserve it. If I’m going to say goodbye, there’s only one place I need to go.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Breathe in deeply. Seagulls cry and swoop overhead. Salt and rain are heavy in the air, in the breeze that tangles Ed’s hair. Back again.

“Hey, Oswald,” he whispers to the water below, hoping he’ll hear. “I miss you. A lot,” he wipes at his eyes. “You were right, you know. It changed me. Losing you.”

He had wanted _so badly_ to kill Oswald, to destroy everything he loves, to shred his heart with his teeth. Oswald’s betrayal changed something in Ed, brought out a brutal, ruthless man waiting within. Ed looked at him and saw red, bright bloody red, even as Oswald cast him the sweetest and most innocent of smiles. _No one can be trusted._

So he crafted an elaborate scheme to make Oswald go insane, to break him. Tricking him into confessing his feelings only to turn him down. Faking his own kidnapping. Tormenting Oswald with the ghost of his father. Tying him down, leaving him to die. Cutting his heart into sections, removing them one by one. All of that and for what? So Ed could kill him, dump his bleeding body in the river? Oswald was dead before Ed could even pull the trigger.

When he brought him to the docks, his final resting place, it took everything in Ed’s power to bite down the sob welling up in his throat, to will the tears clinging to his eyelashes not to fall. Oswald cried with everything he had, shaking, bound hands reaching for Ed one last time. _You need me, Edward Nygma, just as I need you!_ He hated it. His sweet revenge. It was bitter and bloody and only deepened that cut to his core.

His heart carved in two.

The rage within him ebbed. The empty cavity in his chest ached with a sadness, one far more immense than what he had felt when he lost Isabella. 

He loved Oswald.

It absolutely gutted him, knowing this, knowing what he had done. So he changed their story, lived in a fairy tale in which he rescues the love of his life and they live happily ever after. What really happened was soon lost to him, entirely replaced as he retreated into his own world. Every so often, the truth was bleeding in at the edges, when they would fight or Oswald would bleed to death during the night, but Ed was still able to pretend.

Waking up was complete and utter torture. Sometimes Ed is surprised he’s still upright, not spending his days collapsed on the floor.

“I don’t know what kind of life I’ll have without you. I don’t even know if I can move on from this,” he laughs weakly, tears falling from his eyes. “But I have to try.” He nudges his glasses further up his nose and stuffs his chilled hands deep inside his pockets. The black water silently laps at the edge of the pier. “There’s something I need to say to you before I go,” he chokes out, mouth twisting as he sobs fully now. Ed bites his lip, trying to stop another breakdown. “Oswald, you need to know… I’m sorry. For everything I’ve ever done to you. I forgive you, you know,” his voice breaks, “I love you.”

His heart still aches but a little weight lifts from his shoulders. He imagines that Oswald does hear him, and that he forgives him too. He smiles softly for the first time in months.

A rustling behind the crates and rusting support beams captures Ed’s attention. He whips out his gun and wildly points in every direction, searching for his visitor. 

Everything becomes still again. Too still. He stealthily approaches a stack of massive crates, darts around the corner and-

No one’s there. He sighs in relief.

Barely registers the shuffling behind him until a heavy blow strikes the back of his head.

\-------------------------------------------------------  
The first thing Ed notices is the smell. A decadently sweet aroma, one not at all unfamiliar to him. He mumbles her name but his brain is so fuzzy, and a buzzing noise sounds in his ears as the deep ache sets in.

“Barbara,” he repeats, clearer this time. His vision is blackened at the edges but when he looks up he can still make out her shape. Tight restraints around his wrists and ankles leave a searing sensation on his skin. Before he knows it, he’s laughing hysterically. It makes his head pound but he throws his head back and cackles. “Took you long enough,” he smirks and tugs at the ropes holding him to the chair.

“Sorry, sweetie. Just couldn’t share the throne,” she feigns a sad smile and steps towards him. Tabitha emerges from a shadowy corner of the room (which Ed quickly determines is the storage cellar of the Sirens-- very predictable).

“Hey, didn’t see you there!” Ed calls, voice laced with sarcasm.

“Cut the shit, Nygma,” she barks, cocking her gun and aiming it at his face. 

Barbara snickers at her girlfriend’s retort before resting her foot on Ed’s leg, sharp high heel digging into his flesh. “So,” she chirps, “I have just one question for you before Tabby here paints the walls with your brains. Where. Is. Penguin?”

Ed swears his heart misses a beat (or several) at the mention of his name. That deep crushing pain returns in his ribcage but he laughs again anyway. “Think you know where he is.”

This earns him a smack to the head with Tabitha’s gun. He cries out, feeling even more woozy than before. Blood drips down along his temple, slick red. 

Barbara grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back. “Here’s what I think: I think you’re head over heels for your little birdie, so you got cold feet when it came time to pull the trigger!” Barbara smiles, poison in her words and blue fire alight in her eyes. “So, you’re gonna tell us where dear old Ozzie is before we put a bullet in you!” Her voice echoes in the spacious room.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ “Either way you’re gonna kill me! Why would I give him up, even if I hadn’t thrown him in the river?” He grins through the throbbing pain. “Didn’t really think this through, did you?”

Another hit, this time to the jaw. He spits out blood.

“Honey, you are making this way too hard. Just give up the man who- need I remind you- slaughtered your sweet little librarian, and we’ll off him for you! Get revenge once and for all, huh?” She flashes a toothy smile. “That way, you’ll die knowing the poor lamb was finally avenged.”

There’s that creeping guilt Ed’s been trying to ignore, the itching under his skin as he remembers Isabella’s fate. It stung his eyes to see her lying there, half her face a mangled mess, and to know that his best friend had done this. And yet here he was, in love with Oswald and pining over him and wanting to give anything and everything to bring him back. It wasn’t fair to Isabella but Oswald was right. Ed probably would have killed her, and it would have devastated him. Like it did when he shot Oswald.

“Listen, I already told you. Oswald is dead. I shot him and threw him off the pier. No way anyone survives that.”

Barbara sighs, unsatisfied. She casts an annoyed glance at Tabitha, who rolls her eyes. “Nygma,” Barbara begins with a deathly delicate tone, “I am giving you one last chance. Tell us where bird boy is, and we’ll go easy on you. We’ll make it a quick death.”

Ed bares his teeth in a malicious smile, blood on his gums. He’s about to throw an aggravating riddle at his captors when they snap their heads to the side, listening.

“Did you hear that?” Barbara hisses, reaching for the gun on her thigh holster. Tabitha draws her own weapon, pointing at the darkened storage crates. “Stay here, would you?” Barbara tosses a venomously sweet grin at Ed before she and her girlfriend slip away to investigate.

It doesn’t take long before Barbara shrieks and wild gunfire is exchanged, little bright bursts of light flashing from behind the maze of massive crates. Ed’s heart pounds in his ears as he looks around hurriedly, searching for any way to break the bonds tying him to the chair. He glances behind himself, flinching as the shouting and firing of weapons becomes more intense. Whoever is challenging Barbara and Tabitha, he wishes he could thank them. His eyes land on a medical tray of Tabitha’s preferred torture weapons, and he chuckles. Mustering the little bit of strength he has, Ed scoots his chair back, turning it to face the little metal table. The silver tools are rusted and caked in dried blood, and Ed has to fight the urge to gag as he leans forward and bites down onto a small jagged saw. Its sickening metallic taste nearly makes Ed heave but he keeps the knife in his mouth, bloody steel on his tongue. With some painful straining, he manages to reach down and grasp the tool with one hand, taking it from between his teeth. Ed laughs breathlessly, impressed with his success.

A strange whistling sounds. Before Ed can register it, a massive explosion flares up behind the crates, illuminating the cellar, sending wood splinters flying. The screaming and gunfire continue. Quickly as he can, Ed takes to sawing at the rope around his one wrist, blood pulsing through his temple and his body trembling. He’s able to free one hand, then the other, then his ankles.

With Barbara and Tabitha distracted, as well as Ed’s saviors (he doubts they were really there for him, but he appreciates their efforts anyway), he is able to slip away unnoticed, heading upstairs and strutting proudly out the front doors of the Sirens.

Ed keeps his head low as he makes his way back to his apartment. Blood trickles down his chin.

_I think you’re head over heels for your little birdie._

_Just give up the man who slaughtered your sweet little librarian!_

_I shot him and threw him off the pier. No way anyone survives that._

His pleased grin fades. A tiny, nagging part of him wishes he hadn’t been so lucky in his escape.

\-------------------------------------------------------

With his hands braced on the shower wall in front of him, Ed hisses as the hot water drizzles down his nose, soaking his face. It stings the fresh wounds on his temple and jaw but at least he’ll feel clean again. Blood and grime pool at his feet.

He scrubs his skin raw, soap foaming and bubbling on his now-pink body. He considers crying- maybe it will help him feel better, releasing the tension in his body, the shower washing away his tears- but he’s had enough of that. Tears and energy wasted wishing he was here. He dips his head under the steaming water.

A creaking sound. The quiet rumble of his front door sliding open. Ed silently turns the shower off, heart already pounding. There’s only one wall between himself and the intruder, and Ed is locked in the bathroom without a gun. He steps out of the shower and hurriedly wraps himself in his bathrobe, water dripping on the tiles. His heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he can’t hear. He inhales sharply and kicks the door open, looking around wildly. He’s alone, the door closed once more.

But amidst the wreckage of his apartment, something catches his eye. He fumbles in his robe pocket, pulls out his glasses and shoves them on his face. His heart seizes in his chest.

There, resting on the only table that hasn’t been overturned, is a little origami penguin, folded with gleaming black paper. With trembling fingers Ed reaches for it, and he carefully unfurls the creased penguin.

Ed gasps. Letters in white ink are scrawled on the inside. _WORTHLESS TO ONE._ It’s _his_ writing.

He quickly gets dressed, breathing fast and nearly tripping as he pulls on his trousers. He yanks his coat off the back of the chair, stuffs the unfolded penguin into his pocket, and dashes out the door.

\-------------------------------------------------------

He’s on edge the whole drive there. Presses pedal to the metal while he chews on his cheek. His legs shake when he pulls up beside the immense storage crates. Ed steps onto the concrete, the slam of the car door echoing off the rusty steel beams overhead. By now, whoever waits for him surely knows he’s here. Fog lays thick at the end of the pier. The paper penguin rustles in his coat pocket. Ed can hardly breathe.

He walks slowly down along the docks, like it’s his final time. Through the fading fog a figure takes shape. Short, broad shoulders, a fur coat hanging off his thin frame. One leg twisted to the side.

Ed’s breath hitches.

The figure turns around, the glint of a gun shining in his hand. Ed could collapse. Wind tangles in black hair. Piercing green eyes meet Ed’s.


	2. I pray for everything we lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed and Oswald have a rocky start. [please read the tags; they've changed!]

“Well, isn’t this a surprise.” Voice so low and deathly it chills Ed to his core.

He had thought this would be a momentous reunion, Oswald rushing into his embrace, the two of them sharing a passionate, long-awaited kiss before pulling away to whisper _I’m sorry. I love you. I couldn’t be without you._ Cold dead weight lays heavy in his stomach, rooting him to the spot. A cutting chill steals away his breath. _This is what I wanted, isn’t it?_

Ed opens his mouth but his throat is squeezing so tight, vocal cords severed to ribbons.

Oswald seems to hear the question burning in his mind. “This is Gotham, dear Ed,” he responds in a tone icy and even, “No one stays dead.” He levels his gun between Ed’s eyes but the idea of pulling the trigger doesn’t seem to thrill him.

“Then I won’t either.”

Oswald is momentarily stunned, blinking rapidly. His gun lowers ever so slightly.

For a moment, Ed is struck by how _different_ he looks. Dark purple brushed under his striking eyes steals away the glow he once had. He hasn’t lined his eyes or darkened his lashes with mascara (the only man he was trying to impress dumped him in a river to die). His face is pale and gaunt, cheekbones high and sharp. Black hair wild and choppy. He’s more unkempt but still holds so much beauty and poise. Back straight (or as straight as possible) and stance held firmly on the concrete. Effortlessly strong it seems, but Ed doesn’t doubt he’d find broken, bleeding edges pieced together under his ruffled black fur coat.

Trying to ignore his own quick heartbeat and forcing his breathing to stay even, Ed speaks again. “You were right, Oswald. I missed you.” It’s only the very tip of the iceberg in terms of how he’s been feeling, but he’s afraid if he bares his entire bleeding heart Oswald might collapse from shock. Or blow his brains out.

“Come home with me,” Ed says, without even thinking to stop himself. It’s a subtle way of conveying how much he longs for Oswald, how deeply he’s fallen for him. Oswald doesn’t reply, only sets his jaw. Ed pulls the crumpled penguin from his pocket. Oswald bites his lip, brow furrowing upon seeing that tiny thing that means so much. Maybe he regrets leaving it for Ed to find.

Dark gray clouds unfurl above, stealing away whatever slight glimmer was left in Oswald’s eyes. The shine that miraculously still flickered even after Ed snuffed out his life and soul. The deep rumble of thunder sounds across the sky, the misty smell of rain lays heavy in the air.

“Barbara and Tabitha are on your tail. I can help you get rid of them,” Ed adds, tone bordering on desperate. He feels so light-headed. Bright lightning crackles among the clouds.

When Oswald stuffs the gun into his coat pocket, Ed can’t hide his gasp of surprise. Without sparing Ed another word or glance, he staggers past him, directly to the waiting car. A whiff of his cologne (the very same he wore during his time as mayor) nearly sends Ed reeling as flashes of their past together flood his mind. He takes several deep breaths before following Oswald to the car, rain drops falling quicker and quicker on his shoulders.

He doesn’t speak the whole way to the manor, leaving Ed on edge, his fingers trembling at the steering wheel and his eyes flicking nervously to Oswald every few seconds. His heart pounds a mile a minute.

When they finally arrive home, Oswald drops his coat carelessly at the door and marches straight to the shower. He doesn’t even look at Ed, who trails behind him, watching him carefully and neatly placing his fur coat on a hook.

He reappears after an hour (one Ed spent pacing back and forth), his hair fluffy and those dark circles under his eyes softened and faded. He’s dressed in more comfortable, clean clothing. Silk pajamas that flow over his body like inky black water. Ed shakes the image from his mind.

Oswald settles in the armchair opposite him, reaching for his drink on the table and crossing his legs. Body language reveals many things, but Ed can only focus on how closed-off he seems. “So?” Oswald raises an eyebrow at him over the rim of his glass. Crackling firelight dances across his face, bathing him in gold. He’s beautiful, elegant. If he didn’t know better, Ed would never guess how badly he’s been hurt.

“Edward.”

Ed jerks his head up to meet his eyes. “Right. Um, I have- I created some blueprints. For a bomb.” He finds it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes locked with Oswald’s. Their beautiful, pale green doesn’t welcome him anymore, just leaves him with a cold pit in his stomach. “I- I was gonna detonate it,” he mimes an explosion with his hands, “inside the Sirens Club. Make a point to them not to mess with me. With us.” Ed lifts his gaze again. Before he can even sip from his own glass, he notices Oswald’s already pouring another for himself. More cognac than a single serving, from what Ed can tell.

Oswald frowns into the glass, swirling the amber liquid. “And then?”

Oh dear. “Uh- well I- that was pretty much my whole plan. Didn’t really get a chance to put it all together-”

“So that’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” Oswald snorts. Drains the rest of his cognac. “You’re supposed to be the smart one,” he snaps, a stinging slap to Ed’s ego. But he doesn’t care. Oswald could drive a knife straight to his heart here and now and he would understand.

Oswald drops his empty glass on the table and stands. Ed doesn’t miss how he winces a bit, but he keeps quiet. “Well, this was insightful,” Oswald gives him a sarcastic grin. “I’m going to bed.”

 _No no no I’m losing him again_ “Oswald-” Ed stands briskly, wincing at how his voice wavers. He feels pathetic. “I-” The words slip from the tip of his tongue, dripping to the floor. _Don’t say it not yet not yet_ “I’ll come with you.”

_I love you._

Up to the bedroom in silence. Oswald casts an uneasy glance back at Ed when he follows him.

“Since when do we sleep in the same bed?” Oswald chokes out, words a bitter venom that stings his eyes. He’s close to tears. A glass or two of cognac shared with the man who ripped out your heart will do that.

That familiar, icy dread washes over Ed as he searches for the right words. Oswald is not the same man he was before. Not affectionate with him, not confident. The stars that once glimmered in his eyes when he looked at Ed are now faded and dull. To have him both here and not here is a whole new kind of torture- not even a flicker of what they once had remains in his voice. His eyes rarely meet Ed’s but when they do they’re empty. He stands beside him but does anything to avoid his touch. Everything just feels different. Lonely. The pain that twists and coils in Oswald’s insides seeps out of him, so that Ed can feel it in the air. “We don’t have to,” he begins gently, “I just thought maybe you would feel more comfortable if you didn’t have to sleep alone.”

Oswald casts his eyes away, biting his lip. Little pearly tears form in his eyes and cling to his lower lashes, like he’s willing them not to fall. “Okay,” he finally whispers, voice broken and barely there. He’s trying _so hard_ not to let Ed in again, not to bare his soul and give his everything to him. He’s put his heart on ice again, leaving it to crust over with sharp, jagged crystals.

Ed pulls back the sheets and climbs into bed, Oswald hesitating at his own side of the mattress for a moment too long. He stares blankly, unmoving, unsure if he should really do this. Crawl into this bed of thorns with the man who once wanted him dead, who would stop at nothing to torture his body and mind. He does it anyway. Ed nearly chokes on the dryness in his throat.

There’s an entire chasm between them, deep and dark. Oswald keeps to his side, flinching when Ed places a gentle hand on his arm, a bridge forming between them. He quickly withdraws it. He wants to scream. _I’ve lost him. He’s gone._

Oswald is there in his dreams. Smiling, laughing. Singing joyfully with him. Eyes sparkling so brightly, a warm glow in his cheeks. He leans up on his tip-toes to kiss Ed, giggling all the way. He tells Ed he loves him, more than anything in the entire world. Promises him he’ll never leave his side, that he never could live without him. A wedding band glints gold on his left hand.

Ed is ripped from his fantasy.

But this time, he really doesn’t wake up alone. He can’t deny how relieved he is to know that Oswald is still breathing. No red stains anywhere.

Ed still has nightmares, though. Remembers what he did and finds blood caked between his fingers. He wakes up and Oswald isn’t in his arms, instead he’s curled up on his own side of the bed. Often sobbing so quietly, little whimpers escaping his lips as he dreams, shoulders trembling. Ed knows he can’t- shouldn’t- try to help.

Oswald drinks heavily during the day. Glass after glass of whiskey but it’s never enough. At night he drinks enough to drag him under in a listless slumber, and he only wakes when the pounding in his head is so strong it has him retching until his throat scalds. 

Ed makes him ginger tea with a spoonful of honey on the side. Sits in heavy silence with him as he lies down on the couch for hours, too sick to move. They go through this same routine over and over.

One early morning, after another night of drinking and poor health, Ed is woken by the incessant ringing of his phone. It’s unusual; he doesn’t have friends or family, or really anyone who gives a damn about him. Not wanting to disturb Oswald, who has finally drifted off to sleep, Ed flips open his phone and carefully removes himself from the bed.

“Ed,” comes a smooth, warm voice.

Ed steals another glance back at Oswald before slipping out the door, heading down the hall to the bathroom. “Foxy,” he replies, a smile spreading across his face. Ever since Lucius established a reformed connection with him, even declaring them friends, Ed can’t deny that he’s pleased to know him. He keeps in mind to go easy on Foxy the next time he’s in the mood for a night of riddles and mischief.

“So Penguin’s back, huh? That’s the talk of the town right now,” Lucius pauses, apparently waiting for Ed’s response. The truth is, Ed doesn’t know if he should speak, if he should jeopardize Oswald’s safety. He anxiously runs his fingers through his hair, mulling it over.

It’s like Lucius reads his mind. “From what I hear, Barbara Kean’s looking for him. Sounds like bad business to me…” he trails off, sensing Ed’s disturbance. “Ed? You still there?”

He knew this. He knew Barbara and Tabitha were after Oswald with more than the intention of a serious chat. Hearing a confirmation from Lucius just sinks the dagger in deeper, he supposes. Barbara’s not even afraid of the consequences if she’s made her plans well known. She’ll kill Oswald even if she has to die trying. “Uh- yeah. Yeah, I’m still here,” Ed stutters.

“Well if you _have_ seen Penguin, you’d probably want to keep an eye on him. Barbara Kean does not rest, have no doubt about that. She’s been plenty of trouble for us down at the GCPD-”

“Has she said anything more? About Oswald?” Ed cuts in.

“She’s been lying low for the last few days. So no.”

Ed nods, running through every possibility of what she’s planning in his mind.

After a long pause, Lucius takes a deep breath. ‘Well, I just wanted to check on you, see how you’re doing.”

“Right.”

“Okay then-”

“Lucius?” Ed squeezes his eyes shut. “Thank you.”

There’s a brief static silence. “No problem,” he responds. “Anything for an old friend.”

Ed smiles a bit. Flips the phone shut.

He wanders down to the kitchen for a quick bite to eat. Oswald is already up, drinking from a mug but not making breakfast. Ed suspects it’s not coffee that he’s drinking, and his guess is confirmed when Oswald reaches into the liquor cabinet for a refill. Ed huffs, grabs a piece of toast, and returns upstairs for a shower (while Oswald was gone showers were too far in between). It’s nice to just stand under the steaming hot water, letting it stream over his body and soothe his muscles, but Ed still can’t shake the worry that creeps into his mind. He _needs_ a better plan to do away with Barbara and Tabitha, to keep them from exacting their revenge on Oswald.

Ed sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. An hour in the shower seems like it should be enough, his skin pink and squeaky clean. He shuts the water off a little reluctantly. Ruffles his hair with a towel. Slips on his robe. He shaves for the first time in weeks.

Ed feels a bit more optimistic. That’s the wonder of a nice long shower.

Taking a deep breath and confidant strides, Ed returns to the kitchen, prepared to iron out his plans for the Sirens with Oswald. But Oswald isn’t there.

Ed furrows his brow. “Oswald?” he calls. No answer. Unless Oswald escaped on foot, he must still be here, since the car keys are still on the counter where Ed left them. “Oswald, are you here?” He drums his fingers on the granite, thinking.

He strolls towards the living room, steps slowed by a sudden feeling washing over him. Something’s wrong. Alarm begins to course through his veins as he quickens his pace.

Ed would have mistaken him for a corpse.

Skin as pale as a dying lily, sticky and discolored. His lips are parted but no air passes between them.

Ed cries out and drops to the floor beside him, frantic hands reaching for him, patting his cheek, feeling for a pulse. It’s there but incredibly weak, a hesitant throb.

The scent of alcohol is heavy on Oswald’s lips and on his clothes. It nearly makes Ed vomit.

Ed sobs through gritted teeth as he begins CPR, trying to beat the life back into him. _Don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t you dare_

Finally, _finally_ Oswald gasps and splutters, bloodshot eyes fluttering open. He rolls over and heaves his brains out, relieving his body of all its poison. Ed sobs until his bones ache and a deep throbbing sets in. He gathers Oswald into his arms, pulling him back tight against his chest. Oswald is too weak to move so he allows Ed this. Tear drops fall into Oswald’s damp hair.

“Why didn’t you let me?” Oswald whispers in a voice so brittle and so small that it’s hardly there. Ed can’t stop himself from trembling.

Something needs to change.

\-------------------------------------------------------

“You have to eat something, Oswald.” Ed pushes the rolling tray closer, offering him a freshly prepared dinner of eggs, sausage, pancakes, and fruit (Ed spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen, covered in flour and grease- a small sacrifice since he knows Oswald loves breakfast for dinner).

Oswald leans back onto the sofa and, while keeping a venomous glare on Ed, reaches defiantly for his decanter on the end table. 

Ed can practically feel the steam bursting from his ears. He snatches the bottle from Oswald, who squawks more in anger than in surprise and struggles to his feet.

“What are you doing?! Ed!” 

Breathing heavily, nostrils flaring, Ed marches straight to the kitchen, Oswald hot on his trail, and he pours the amber liquid from the decanter down the drain. Oswald begins shrieking and clawing at his arms but Ed isn’t done yet. Not even close.

He stomps over to the liquor cabinet (Oswald’s favorite piece of furniture these days), throws open its glass doors and gathers as many bottles into his arms as humanly possible. 

Oswald tries to pull some of the loose bottles away from him. “Don’t you dare!” he hisses.

“Stop it! Stop it, Oswald!” He tosses the glasses he’s still carrying onto the counter before yanking the rest away from Oswald. Oswald attaches himself to Ed’s arm, watching anxiously, angrily. 

Ed nudges him gently. “Go sit down, I’ll make you some tea,” he says gruffly, pouring each bottle out one by one.

Oswald stomps his foot and tosses him a scowl that sears into his skin. He staggers away, huffing, trying to contain his rage.

Had Oswald been himself lately, he would have pressed a gun to Ed’s temple and ordered him to relinquish the bottles if he valued his life. Maybe he would have shattered a few glasses in the process, knocked over a lamp, beat the counter with his cane. Ed sighs heavily as he drains the last container, then sets to boiling a kettle of water.

He returns to the living room to find Oswald sunken into the couch, arms crossed and miserable face just visible in the dim lighting. Ed sets the teacup down so forcefully it clatters, sloshing hot ginger liquid onto the end table. Oswald glares at the drink as if his menacing glower alone will shatter the ceramic. His chest heaves. Ed folds his arms and waits for the impending meltdown.

Sure enough, Oswald’s face twists and he launches himself off the couch to stand directly in front of Ed. Their toes touch. Oswald’s fists tighten at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He stares Ed down with red-rimmed eyes. Ed holds himself steady even as a creeping anxiety crawls under his skin. Or maybe it’s guilt.

“I hate you!” Oswald screams. It doesn’t even hurt though. Ed knows he doesn’t mean it, can tell by the heavy sadness in his eyes and his lips and his shoulders that it’s not true. Oswald is just hurting so bad.

Ed shakes his head and jabs a finger at him. A bit too harsh. “We both know something needs to be done here,” he snaps. “Something had to change or you would have died. Jesus Christ, Oswald.”

"There is not a single person in this world who wants me alive. Not even myself."

Ed’s been cut so many times but these words leave such a deep, stinging gash. 

He’s so _angry_ with Oswald. For leaving him, for coming back but staying just out of reach so that Ed can’t get through to him. Ed tears at his own hair. “So, what, you’re just gonna drink yourself to suicide?!”

“If it happens, it happens.”

His stomach drops. The air is so much colder now.

Ed can barely swallow around the sob that swells up in his throat, hearing Oswald say that. He thinks about telling him all the reasons he shouldn’t feel that way, telling why he should stay here, with him. But Ed’s been there too, that deep dark place where he’s at the end of his rope and in the loop of a noose. Oswald needs more from him if he’s ever going to come back from the edge. “I took pills to see you,” he finally blurts out. He isn’t sure if it’s the best thing to tell him but Oswald needs to hear something, _anything._ “I was so lost, I couldn’t stand to be without you,” Ed adds, his trembling voice becoming softer. He swipes a hand down over his face.

“Because you felt guilty! Because you didn’t want blood on your hands!” Oswald cries, eyes alight with raging fire.

“Because I’m in love with you, Oswald!” There’s a tremor in his voice, finally saying those words, and he latches onto Oswald’s arms. 

Oswald is shaking his head now, his eyes cast downward. “No. Don’t say that. Not now,” he says firmly, although his voice begins to quiver as he struggles to contain his emotions.

“It’s true.”

“You made it _very_ clear to me how you felt,” Oswald spits, wrenching his arms away from Ed’s grasp.

Ed breathes in deeply. “I can’t be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance-”

“Stop it!” Oswald shrieks, and he snatches his teacup from the table, throwing it against the wall so it shatters. Ed reaches for him again, his own hands shaking and tears welling up in his eyes. Some foolish part of him thinks he can soothe Oswald, bring him back to him, make him realize that Ed can’t go a single day without him.

Shaking violently (with rage, with pain), Oswald takes a step away from him. “You can’t change what happened! Not with some stupid, meaningless riddle,” his voice cracks and tears slide freely down his flushed cheeks. “You can’t heal our wounds, you can’t fix us!” Oswald sobs and folds his arms over himself, clutching at his sleeves tightly. “There is no future for us. Not anymore,” he squeaks, his throat completely raw. _He’s given up._

“No. I don’t believe that,” Ed steps towards him once more. He sucks in a breath, puffing his chest out as he approaches Oswald. “Why did you come back? Why did you leave the message for me to find?” He already knows the answer.

_Life only gives you one true love._

Oswald stares up at him, eyes shining and eyebrows pinched together almost painfully. His mouth works open and closed several times before he finds the right words. “I told you it would change you,” he finally says, “And I knew you would regret it.” Not the answer Ed was thinking of. “I wanted to give you the chance to forgive yourself,” Oswald drops his eyes once more.

Another step closer. They’re sharing the same breath now. “Well I haven’t forgiven myself. I never will.” Ed inhales deeply, looks up towards the ceiling. “When I think of what I did to you-”

“You don’t have to do that,” Oswald mutters, waving a hand to stop him. “I understand. I deserved it anyway.”

“No one deserves to have that done to them,” Ed says firmly. 

Everything becomes still as the weight of Ed’s words sinks in. It’s deafeningly quiet. Oswald looks away, eyes still downcast. He doesn’t believe Ed.

Without thinking better of it, Ed presses a hand to his cheek. He’s not sure if it’s more to comfort Oswald or to satiate himself with the soft touch of Oswald’s skin on his own. He almost ( _almost_ ) regrets it when Oswald shudders from the contact. But that kind of reaction is to be expected from someone you once put a bullet in.

“Oswald…” he begins softly, although he’s not sure which words to use, how to make Oswald _understand._ Any sentences or sentence fragments or whatever he had thought he might say gets caught in his throat. Ed settles for trailing his hand from Oswald’s cheek and down his arm, a feather-light caress.

Oswald flinches suddenly but not from Ed’s touch (or not his touch alone). Ed tries not to panic. Hissing, Oswald begins shedding his layers, carelessly tossing the discarded clothing on the couch.

“What is it?” Ed asks just as Oswald peels off his dress shirt, revealing a bloody bandage on his upper arm. There’s a little twinge in Ed’s stomach, seeing his love bleeding yet again, even from so superficial a wound. Oswald throws the shirt to the couch as well and Ed makes a mental note to clean the red stains on the sleeve for him.

Ed’s thumb smoothes over the bandage. “What happened here?” Oswald pulls away and settles on the sofa, sinking casually into the cushions. He critically inspects the covered wound but makes no move to change the ruined dressings.

“Somebody had to save you,” Oswald says plainly, as though it’s the easiest, most reasonable thing in the world to just keep saving Edward Nygma over and over again.

“You- you were there? That day at the Sirens? The basement?”

Oswald only quirks an eyebrow.

Ed’s mouth twitches into a little smile and he crouches in front of Oswald. “That explosion. You have a rocket launcher?” Keeping his gaze firm and serious, Oswald says nothing. “Oh- Of course. Must have been Zsasz, huh?” Ed guesses with a grin. 

Oswald crosses his arms but lets out a little whimper as it strains his injury, then quickly unfolds them again. Ed straightens up immediately. “Oh- um, okay. Oswald, I’ll be right back,” he waves his hands wildly and gestures for Oswald to stay put. Without another word he dashes to the kitchen for a first aid kit (one he himself placed there during his days as Chief of Staff, when he was constantly worried about the Mayor obtaining some injury-- it’s funny how things worked out).

He lays out all the supplies neatly on the end table and drops to the floor in front of Oswald. Biting his cheek nervously, he takes to removing the bandages, sticky with dried blood. “Thank you, by the way. For- you know,” Ed offers him an appreciative smile. Oswald doesn’t return the gesture. He hates this. Here Oswald is, in his hands, but he doesn’t chuckle like he used to, blush like he used to, flutter his eyelashes like he used to. Ed can’t help but remind himself over and over that this is his doing. He carved out Oswald’s core and left a brittle shell.

_He hates himself._

Ed coughs as he peels off the last of the gauze, revealing a jagged red tear on Oswald’s bicep. It’s nothing too serious- he was probably only grazed by a bullet or sliced with some flying debris- but Ed feels a pang in his heart. Oswald did this for him, even after Ed had spilled all of his blood on the concrete and in the water.

Ed throws away the bloody bandages.

“So. Are you going to tell me why?” Ed asks, as gentle as possible. He carefully strokes around the deep angry red gash with a warm, soapy cloth. Fights the urge to run his fingers through Oswald’s hair, drop a kiss to his forehead, tell him _It’s okay. I’ve got you now._

Oswald furrows his brow, a hint of exasperation lingering in his features. “Why what?”

Ed works on blotting the wound with a soft, dry towel. He allows himself to press his fingers into Oswald’s warm skin, holding his arm still even though it’s unnecessary. “You know what. The alcohol. That morning I found you,” Ed sucks in a breath, trying not to get worked up over that incident again.

Oswald gasps and grits his teeth as Ed dabs at the laceration with an antibiotic ointment. “You want to know why I passed out?” he asks in an annoyed tone. “I was drunk, Edward.” He rolls his watering eyes.

“‘Passed out’? _‘Passed out’?_ ” Ed huffs a bitter laugh. He leans back on his heels, hands dropping into his lap. “You weren’t breathing, Oswald!”

“Well I’m fine now-”

“ _Why did you try to kill yourself?_ ” Ed asks sharply, forcefully ripping gauze from the roll.

“I wasn’t-”

“Oh, please! You’ve been drinking yourself half to death ever since you came back!”

Oswald flinches at Ed’s biting tone. “I wasn’t _trying_ to do it! It just sort of… happened,” Oswald says, sounding a bit nervous, afraid. He bites his lip and looks away, trying to hide the tears that well up in his eyes. _Closing Ed out, yet again._ “I was just careless, I guess.”

Ed keeps his gaze fixed on Oswald’s arm, wrapping the dressing around it several times. It takes nearly all of his willpower to hold back the tears that sting in his eyes and the cry that claws at his throat. If he meets Oswald’s eyes he might just break down.

He lays one final bandage over the gauze. “You’re all set,” he announces, trying to keep his voice softer this time. Oswald doesn’t need him to grind glass into his already-open, bleeding wounds with harsh words.

Ed delicately strokes his hand down Oswald’s arm, letting it fall into his lap. He considers asking Oswald if he’s okay but thinks better of it. Oswald isn’t okay. He may never be again. Ed is only a spectator now, watching as Oswald further deteriorates, pounding on the glass between them, trying to get back to him, screaming and screaming until his throat is raw and his voice is useless.

“I want to go to bed,” Oswald whispers, unfallen tears still glistening in his eyes as he fixes his gaze onto the floor. There’s a pang in Ed’s heart and he wants nothing more than to hold him, to pretend that when they wake up tomorrow morning everything will be okay again. Just like the days when they were Mayor and Chief of Staff, when they were kind and gentle with each other, falling into a kind of comfortable domesticity. The air was lighter then, filled with an excitement, an anticipation of their future together. But they are not the same people now.

“Okay,” Ed says gently, “let’s go to bed.” He ventures close enough to press a tentative kiss to Oswald’s forehead. Oswald lets him. He even releases a shaky breath and allows his eyes to slip shut for just a moment.

But then he turns away and pushes himself up off the couch without sparing Ed another glance, leaving Ed to follow him hesitantly to the bedroom. He’s a dead weight, pulling Oswald back to the depths of despair and death. A constant reminder of what it’s like to have your heart shattered and your lungs filled with black water and blood.

Oswald crawls into bed first this time. He watches Ed carefully, waiting. Not really as an invitation for him but an expectation that regardless of his own desires Ed is still going to sleep with him. He tucks himself into his own side of the mattress. Ed flicks off the light and closes the distance between them, settling in right next to Oswald. It’s a risk but Ed is undeniably ready to take it.

He takes another risk too.

“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness. Oswald stiffens next to him, muscles tensing where they touch Ed’s skin. He makes a little squeak, like he’s trying to force words out but only chokes on them. Little thorns clinging in his throat, stealing away his voice. “It’s okay,” Ed murmurs, “you don’t have to say anything now.” He breathes a sigh. “I have never once seen you give up. Don’t do it because of me.”

A few more moments of weary silence and Ed begins to think maybe Oswald should spend the night alone, just this once. Maybe Oswald needs the time to himself. Cross his fingers that he won’t wake up to his cold, unmoving body. Perhaps it’s foolish thinking but deep down, Ed doesn’t believe that will happen again.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” Ed sighs heavily and rolls away, moving to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

Cold fingers latch onto his wrist. Ed’s heart squeezes and he forces down the shaky excitement building in his ribcage. He smiles in the dark. Goes willingly to Oswald.

They lie together, close enough for Ed to hear that beating thing in Oswald’s chest and for cold skin to press to warm. Just two broken creatures trying to pick up their cracked pieces, build each other up after smashing one another to bits. It’s painful but poetic, he supposes.

Ed finds sleep soon. 

Walking down a long corridor. A wide, beautiful ballroom stretches out before him, endless couples circling round and round. He admires their extravagant costumes, glittering in gold and red. He looks himself over, taking shame in finding he’s only dressed in pajamas. He considers turning back to that shadowed hallway.

But then there he is. Stepping forward from the crowd, a white-gloved hand outstretched, waiting for Ed’s. He stands out bright against the others, his pure white suit sparkling under the radiant, shimmering light of the chandeliers. There’s something strange in his pale green eyes, a cool glint that sends spikes of adrenaline through Ed’s heart. He’s absolutely breathtaking.

_And I'm breathless  
'Cause this ache in my chest_

That strange, wonderful song whispers to him once more.

When their fingers touch, Ed’s nightwear is transformed into a beautiful suit, gleaming in gold. He smiles and wraps an arm around Oswald’s waist, clasping his other hand tightly. He follows Oswald’s lead as the faint music carries through the air. 

Oswald’s eyes are dazzling to see this close, lined in a bold black that somehow intensifies their enchanting green. They flit up to meet Ed’s, nearly striking him down on the spot. Ed tries to remember to breathe. He finds he can’t tear his own eyes away.

Oswald is speaking to him as they circle about the room in graceful steps, his lips moving but Ed can’t hear what he’s saying. The room spins and the dance becomes relentlessly fast.

Then something changes. The lights dim. A slick redness streams down the white walls. The chandeliers turn to crimson, the marble floors stained and glistening. Oswald is lost to him, slipping from his arms like smoke, appearing and disappearing behind the sea of dancers. Familiar faces float by but Ed can’t be distracted by them. He catches glimpses of his inky black hair and striking eyes, but he’s always fading, _fading_ away. Ed calls to him but his voice is silent, broken. 

The twisting room blackens his vision and the pounding of his heart sounds in his ears. Finally, the crowd parts and Oswald is returned to him.

_My love._

The bullet strikes him before he can even register the metallic glint of a gun in Oswald’s hand. The surge of music slows, a slow heaviness underwater. “It’s only fair, darling,” his voice echoes. Oswald smiles sweet and sinister.

_I drip for him tonight_

Red speckles white and soaks gold. No time to mourn his beautiful, ruined suit. The piercing pain twists his gut. Squeezes every last drop of blood from him.

_I don’t love you._

“I don’t love you,” Oswald says simply, brushing away the crimson flecks on his suit.

“I didn’t either,” Kristen sidles up next to Oswald. She touches a hand absently to swollen red rings around her throat. The marks match the color of her gown.

“How could I love you, Eddie? You’d already given away your heart,” Isabella adds sadly, eyes trailing to Oswald.

Ed drops to his knees, blood dripping onto the cold marble floor. The faces of Oswald, Kristen, and Isabella loom over him, fading further and further away as Ed sinks from consciousness.

Oswald’s voice is the last thing he hears.

“ _Worthless to one._ ”

Ed jolts awake. There’s a stifling heat under the sheets and a stickiness on his skin. He throws the blankets off, relishing in the cool air that touches his damp skin. He gazes at Oswald, who is still fast asleep, tucked against Ed’s body with his fingers wrapped loosely around his arm. He can’t deny that his heart flutters at that.

But it doesn’t shake that horrible feeling clenched in his heart and in his stomach. He slips away to find solace downstairs.

Ed settles into Oswald’s favorite armchair, sinking into the plump, cool cushions. The scent of Oswald’s pomegranate lotion lingers there, a sweet, welcoming smell that reminds Ed of better times. He lets his eyes drift shut.

“I really can’t believe you, Eddie.” He startles and switches the lamp on. “You haven’t even thought about me, have you?”

The sight that greets has him nearly retching over the side of the couch. There’s his dead love (?) standing in the corner of the room, hands clasped neatly in front of her. Delicate and graceful, shrouded in shadow. But when Isabella steps forward from the darkened corner, Ed has to choke down a gag as she reveals her mutilated face. He’d nearly forgotten how sickening a sight it had been, seeing her in the autopsy room with a gaping crater where her eye used to be, charred skin that used to be soft ivory. She watches him critically with her milky white eye.

“You know, Eddie,” she sighs, attempting to straighten the mangled lump of blonde hair on her head, “I think we both know there’s a bit of a problem here.”

No sound comes out when Ed tries to speak. Eyes watering, he forces himself to blink.

Isabella takes a deep breath. “It should have been him,” she levels her eye with Ed’s. Serious, disappointed. “He should be lying mutilated in the ground, not me!” This Isabella is angry, vengeful. Not docile. “You know that,” she adds, softer this time.

Ed swallows, nausea swimming in his stomach. A drop of sweat rolls down his temple.

“Then we could have been together.”

“You hit me. You manipulated me,” he spits, “You dressed up like my dead girlfriend!”

“Oh, you mean the one _you_ killed? Don’t play innocent Eddie,” she shakes her head as she paces. “How could you do this to me? I’m supposed to be the love of your life!” Frustrated, Isabella straightens her dress. “And now you’re lying with the man who murdered me.” She lowers herself into Oswald’s chair. Stealing his throne.

“Now,” she folds her hands in her lap and gives Ed a sweet smile with scabbed lips. “We just need to get rid of him. Remember you promised me that?” She flutters her lashes.

“I promised you I would avenge your death,” he snaps. “I did. I _gutted_ Oswald. I tortured him. I broke his heart. I took away everything he had. Isn’t that enough?” _Hasn’t he paid more than enough?_

Isabella is silent.

Ed leaves her there.

A voice in the kitchen drifts to him. He follows it straight to his heart.

Oswald is there, wrapped in his golden robe, a phone held up to his ear. His back is turned but something about the line of his shoulders suggests uneasiness, agitation. He’s speaking in such a low voice that Ed has to strain to hear him.

He catches one sentence though, and it sends chills up his spine.

“I look forward to it,” Oswald says in a voice low and poisonous but with a feigned warmness. It leaves Ed feeling unsettled.

He rounds the corner boldly, barely giving thought to the fact that Oswald will realize he’d been eavesdropping. “Who was that?”

Oswald startles a bit but waves a hand dismissively. “Edward, we need to talk,” he cuts in.

“Oh! Of- of course,” Ed blinks in confusion.

“I think this relationship has run its course. Neither of us is happy-”

“I am-” _Am I?_

“I think we would be stronger apart,” Oswald finishes, tone oddly cool and distant. “And maybe… maybe you’ll find someone who can really make you happy. Someone who completes you.” It takes Ed’s breath away, crushes his lungs. 

“So that’s it then?”

Oswald nods.

“Oswald, you are _all I have,_ ” Ed gasps, a tear trickling down his cheek. 

Oswald’s mouth twists. “I know. But you’ll be better without me,” his voice wavers and nearly breaks. He takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut, crushing down whatever feeling is welling up inside him. “You need to let go, Ed. Let go of us.”

“No, no, Os, you know I can’t-” he stops, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I thought you wanted to make things work. You left that little penguin for me, remember?” He feels small, weak.

“I was wrong to do that,” he says quietly. “Please leave.” His voice cracks, a dam barely holding back the flood. Oswald turns away without a word more. Leaves Ed alone in the empty hallway.

Ed clutches the banister as a heavy nausea rolls over him. He _wants_ to scream but he can’t. There’s nothing left inside of him. He blinks through the tears in his eyes and grants Oswald’s wish, his legs carrying him to the door, to his car.

Slumps into the driver’s seat. The car dings several times but he doesn’t latch his seatbelt. Chilly night air bites at his skin. He forgot his coat.

Ed shifts gears, gravel crunching under the tires and headlights paving his way as he is carried away from his love, his life. The manor fades from view, its golden porch lights dimming.

Rain sprinkles the windshield. Tears blur his vision. He bites his cheek, keeps his eyes firm on the darkened roads ahead. He doesn’t know how long he drives for but he knows it’s not a measurable distance.

He jerks the car, pulls over onto the curb. Collapses against the steering wheel the second he shifts the car into park. He sobs openly, loudly, the sound filling the little vehicle, his shoulders violently shaking. He cries and cries until his eyes are swollen and red and his chest aches. An excruciating headache blooms across his forehead.

 _Someone who completes you._ Oswald is the only one.

“You can’t do this, Ed.”

Ed turns so his cheek rests against the wheel. The shadows darken his face but Ed can swear he catches a tear sliding down Riddler’s cheek. “This is what he wants,” Ed croaks. He doesn’t bother wiping away his own tears, just lets them trickle down the side of his nose, drip onto the steering wheel.

“No, it’s not.” Riddler removes his hat and places it in his lap. “Something else is going on.”

He freezes. Sniffles. Lifts his head off the wheel. Everything clicks into place.

Lucius’ warning. The ominous phone call. Oswald’s abrupt break from him.

“Ed, you need to go back. _Now._ ”

He slams on the accelerator.

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Oswald? Oswald!” Ed dashes through the front door, nearly breaking it from its hinges in his panic.

Muffled voices. Agitated, angry. Taunting.

“Oswald?”

He slowly creeps upstairs, gun drawn, careful of the steps he knows creak. Edges along the walls, waiting, listening. He stops suddenly.

A woman’s voice. “I am _really_ going to enjoy this-”

There’s a piercing scream. Tabitha. A heavy, cracking thud.

Ed bursts through the bathroom door just as Tabitha leaps from the window, blood dripping from her side. Something tells Ed she didn’t finish what she came here to do.

Shattered ceramic tiles crunch under his shoes, jagged edges dipped in blood. He rounds to the other side of the tub. Oswald. He falls to his knees beside him. “Oh- oh god! Hey, hey, Oswald? Can you hear me?”

Oswald barely blinks, takes shallow breaths. A crimson pool forms under his head, staining the floor. Red on white. He opens his mouth but only manages a pained squeak.

“God dammit, Oswald!” Anger burns its way through his veins. “You knew she was coming, didn’t you?” Anger turned inwards. “That’s why you wanted me to leave, huh?” He cradles Oswald’s face, barely noticing his own tears dropping onto his skin.

“I could have dealt with her,” Oswald says weakly, his breathing more ragged. The strong scent of whiskey lingers there. A bottle stolen and hidden away while Ed poured out the rest of Oswald’s supply.

“But you didn’t, did you?” Ed cries. His eyes land on a bloody silver blade held loosely in Oswald’s hand. At least he managed one shot at Tabitha.

“I didn’t want you here,” he winces, his eyes fluttering, “didn’t want you here…” 

The knife slips from his hand.


	3. Your hand forever's all I want: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Barbara and Tabitha prepare for their next attack, Ed and Oswald break new emotional ground.

Things are not going as planned. Of course, revenge and murder are never easy. They take time, careful consideration, and room needs to be made for bloody mishaps. Still, Barbara is impatient. Her thirst for vengeance strengthens by each passing hour and each time she remembers that beaky-nosed freak and his pathetic boyfriend are still kicking.

She swallows down her cocktail, licking blood red from her lips. A sweet taste of the victory that’s soon to come. She bites down into a juicy cherry, teeth sharp.

But she needs more time. Her love has yet to heal- it’s not a fatal wound, but a deep cut to the side is debilitating nonetheless. Tabitha tries and tries to prove that she can handle this, downing a strong drink to dull the pain before she strikes a punching bag or starts flinging knives. It borders on over-exertion. Barbara presses her back down onto the bed and fiercely reminds her that rest is the best way to gain back her strength. She kisses her softly before closing the curtains.

Barbara clenches her fist in silence. Drains another drink. Imagines driving a bullet right between Penguin’s eyes, hopefully as Nygma watches. Or maybe the retaliation would be sweeter if Penguin was the one held down as Tabitha carves his freakishly-tall sweetheart to pieces. Afterall, Cobblepot would stop at nothing to take the throne from them. Quick to deceive, quick to betray. He can’t be trusted, so he can’t keep breathing. Barbara knows he and Nygma don’t intend to let her and Tabitha live, so why should she give them any shred of mercy?

This is war. Let the best woman win.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Ed keeps a list of all the things he loves about Oswald tucked into the corner of his mind, just within reach. He mulls it over from time to time, running through each item, continuously adding new details. He likes to think it calms him down.

Now, even though he struggles to remember each thing, his sweating hands slipping on the steering wheel, Ed repeats as many items as he can:

Oswald’s eyes. So pale yet so enchanting that Ed is distracted by them every time.

How Oswald can turn every head in the room, snaring everyone’s attention with just one glance.

They way Oswald holds himself, full of confidence even though Ed knows he has little.

How wonderful Oswald looks in a purple suit.

His ridiculously meticulous hair.

The way Oswald glows when he smiles.

Oswald’s laugh.

His nose.

His freckles.

“Oswald? Stay awake for me, okay?”

He mumbles in response, bleeding head lolling to the side, body slumped over and weak. Ed prays to whatever gods he doesn’t believe in that it’s not serious brain trauma. _Serious brain trauma on account of trying to protect Ed Nygma’s stupid life._

He’s supposed to be a scientist. The cold logician, relying on facts, dealing with problems with a level-head and reason. Drowning out emotion.

But Ed’s drowning in _him._ Pulled under, suffocating. There’s no hope of survival. 

“Talk to me.” He shakily wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Tell me about… tell me about your mother. I always loved hearing about her.” The road is a blurred stretch of pavement before him as he presses even more on the acceleration.

“I can’t- I can’t remember ‘nything,” Oswald slurs, eyebrows pinched as he struggles to keep himself from slipping away to sleep.

Oswald’s smile. 

His eyes.

The way his whole face lights up when he shares happy memories of his mother.

“You told me your mother always made you ginger tea when you were sad or hurting. Remember that, Oswald?”

He manages a little nod.

“You’re gonna be okay, Oswald. They’ll fix you up and then I’m gonna take you home. I’ll make tea for you, just like Gertrud did. And I’ll- I’ll take care of you. How does that sound?”

Gotham General just ahead. Ed whips past ambulances, heart racing, eyes darting. “We’re almost there, just hold on.” His glasses slip down his nose. “Oswald?” 

His eyes are closed.

“Oswald!” Ed screeches to a stop outside the hospital doors. Reaches for him. He shifts, but only slightly.

Ed rounds to the other side of the car, yanking open the passenger door. He screams and screams for help, hoping the nurses inside will hear.

It takes several moments but a team bursts through the glass doors, a stretcher wheeled along with them. Oswald is whisked away inside before Ed can even blink, leaving him to dash along after them, legs burning and eyes stinging.

He catches up, just as they wheel Oswald down the hallway, under bright red lettered signs. _Emergency Room._ A hand is pressed to his chest, halting his steps. “Sir, I can’t allow you in there unless you have some substantial relationship to the patient,” the nurse declares.

Ed doesn’t think twice. “I’m his husband.”

She nods once and ushers him along, urging him to walk briskly beside her and the stretcher. “Can you tell me how this happened?”

“I- he- he fell down the stairs,” Ed finally stutters. A weak lie but these things can happen, he supposes. “I found him like this. Please tell me my husband will be okay!” He hopes the nurse won’t suspect foul play.

“We’ll do what we can for him.”

It doesn’t take long for the doctors to determine the issue.

A concussion. Grade 3-- of course the most severe diagnosis available is the best one to describe Oswald’s condition. Had Tabitha not beat his head into the tiles so hard he fell unconscious, it’s likely his recovery would be much swifter. 

Ed takes shaky breaths as he drives him home from the hospital.

Oswald needs to rest. Feeling dazed and dizzy has him a bit more complaisant than he usually would be. He dutifully takes his medication and allows Ed to fluff his pillow or help him take a sip of water. It’s going to be a slow recovery, Ed thinks. But with Barbara and Tabitha likely planning their next attack, Ed is uneasy about just sitting around like ducks.

As days turn to weeks, Ed becomes more and more concerned by the fact that Barbara and Tabitha have been utterly silent. Not a single appearance from either of them, not a whisper. They’re either planning something huge or something reckless.

Unable to do anything else, he pours all of his energy and care into Oswald.

At night, Oswald clings to Ed’s arm as he sleeps. He had been so woozy the first few nights after the incident that he whimpered his mother’s name in his sleep and could not rest until Ed curled up around him, pulling him close. When the sun rises, he clutches at Ed’s sleeve (and at his heart) and weakly requests that he stay. Ed’s so exhausted he can feel the cottony pressure behind his eyes and the heaviness in his bones, but he gladly does as Oswald asks. But as the days of his recuperation drag on, Oswald slowly gains back some of his inhibitions. He’s more distant with Ed again, save for in the dark and under the sheets. 

Ed finds himself reciting his list again. He wishes he still had a photograph of Oswald as mayor, one where he’s smiling, laughing, even if he’s only pretending to be happy to please a crowd. But Ed shredded them, burned them. Not a single one is left in his possession.

He closes his eyes and tries to remember what Oswald looked like. His cheeks rounded and pink, highlighting pretty freckles. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the slope of his nose wrinkled as he laughs. The imprint left in Ed’s mind is only faint, a silhouette, almost unrecognizable.

He remembers Oswald’s image best when he sleeps, and desperately clings to it when he wakes. It slips away from him.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Even amidst all the chaos and the complications arising from Oswald’s latest injury, Ed can’t allow himself to overlook other troubles; he has no plans to neglect Oswald’s problem with alcoholism. One night Ed slips out of bed, tucking the blankets around Oswald just before carefully stepping from the room. He throws open every cupboard or cabinet in the house until morning light breaks through the windows, finally finding Oswald’s few salvaged bottles of alcohol in Olga’s old storage closet. Ed tries not to curse himself for missing these whilst pouring the rest out, but that awful guilt still twists its way through his gut. Oswald had been drinking the night he sent Ed away. The night Tabitha came for him. _Did he even intend to win that fight?_

These aren’t things he can just forget. Oswald is heavily reliant on alcohol, far too willing to poison his body throwing back drink after drink. He barely eats. Barely sleeps but spends hours upon hours in bed. Oswald is suicidal.

It’s a slow, cruel process of dying and Ed is the catalyst.

He clutches the edge of the sink, a white-knuckled grip. Tears mix with the last of the alcohol, all being washed away.

“Edward?”

He whips around. Oswald sways unsteadily in the doorway, still dressed in his silk pajamas and… Ed’s robe. He seems to have slipped it on by mistake. The concussion still has him a bit confused, Ed reasons.

“I’m going to take a shower. Don’t run any hot water.” If he suspects what Ed was just doing now, pouring out the last of his alcohol, he says nothing of it.

“Take a bath instead. That way I can keep an eye on you. I don’t want you standing for a long time,” he says firmly, turning to face Oswald fully and crossing his arms.

He rolls his eyes and staggers from the kitchen.

Ed doesn’t trust him not to fall going up the stairs, not when he can barely keep his balance standing still. “Let me help you,” Ed calls as he follows Oswald, coming to stand right behind him at the foot of the stairs. It earns him a searing glare but Oswald says nothing. Ed ignores the simmering body heat between them and orders himself not to pull Oswald back against his chest, just to hold him. He reaches for his arm. Helps him up the stairs like he’s supposed to.

Ed hates himself, _hates himself_ for this, but he can’t ignore that little feeling that he’d almost rather go back to when Oswald’s concussion left him so dazed that he practically begged Ed to stay by his side and hold him. It’s selfish and almost cruel, but at least then he could pretend.

He doesn’t even notice that he’s kept a hand on Oswald the entire way to the bathroom. Fingers twitching, he stands awkwardly in the doorway as Oswald perches at the edge of the tub, watching it fill with steaming water, hand swirling absently through the liquid. He doesn’t pour in any soap or luscious-smelling product like he used to. No bubbles. Only clear, glassy water. 

“I’ll get you a towel!” Ed pipes up, desperate to break this solemn silence that sets him on edge. 

Oswald, of course, does not respond, and does not react when Ed holds the towel out for him. His eyes swim in the water, lost and lonely.

Ed chokes down bitter sadness.

The water rises higher and higher, lapping at the lip of the clawfoot tub, threatening to spill over. Oswald just stares. Unmoving, unblinking. Ed leaps forward and hurriedly shuts the faucet off.

Oswald still doesn’t move, barely even noticing that the water has been turned off.

Ed clears his throat, fingers clutching tightly at the fluffy towel in his hands. “Do you want me to help?” he asks, a little nervous to hear the answer. “It’s just- I know- with your concussion, your balance-”

Oswald turns slightly, tossing Ed a searing glare without really looking at him. He scoffs.

And Ed’s had enough.

He huffs and throws down the towel. “How long are you going to keep this up?” he snaps. What was once this calm, silent anger now coils and sizzles in his gut. 

Oswald furrows his brow. Clutches a bit nervously at Ed’s robe that’s still wrapped around him, anxiety crawling under the scowl he wears. 

“You barely talk to me, you snap at me, you won’t even look at me half the time!” Frustration itches under his skin. Ed can’t make him _see._ “I’m trying to be good to you, Oswald. I’m trying to make things better,” he adds, his voice breaking and becoming soft.

Oswald’s expression hardens, eyes turning to steel, lips set in a firm line. “Forgive me, Ed. You broke my heart,” he says, tone low and ice cold.

“You broke mine too, Oswald.” Ed feels his chin quiver, feels the first tears beginning to drop from his lower lashes. He meets Oswald’s eyes briefly but knows that if he holds his gaze he might just burst into heavy, aching sobs that break his bones, make him fall to the floor.

Oswald remains stone-still as Ed scrubs a hand over his face, turning away in silence. He leaves Oswald there, amidst the swirling steam of the bathwater and fogged-up mirrors.

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Well, someone’s feeling better.”

Tabitha smiles as she turns away from the punching bag, fists lowering. Barbara’s noticed she’s made real progress, no longer wincing when she practices her skills. The wound is healing nicely. She should be back to her old self soon.

Despite how quickly Tabitha has healed, Barbara’s blood still boils at the idea of her being hurt.

She hands Tabitha a steaming cup of coffee as she leans in for a quick kiss. “Didn’t even realize you got up early until I woke up to a cold bed,” Barbara teases, raising an eyebrow.

“Needed to practice.” Tabitha gives her another chaste kiss before sipping her coffee. She hums. “I’m feeling a lot better,” she responds with a smile, eyeing Barbara from behind the rim of her mug. “Really looking forward to stringing those two up by their thumbs.” She takes another thoughtful drink.

Barbara twirls the tie of her robe. “Sooo, you think you’ll be ready soon, then?”

Tabitha’s dark eyes flash. “Definitely.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

They sleep in separate beds.

Nightmares torment Ed more frequently now- not that they ever went away, but when Oswald was right there with him, Ed could more often make it through until dawn. Now he twists and turns in the sheets and wakes to a cold bed. Oswald doesn’t sleep like a baby, either. Ed hears him crying at night and wants so desperately to go to him, to pull him close and make things better. But he _has_ been trying to fix them, for weeks and weeks now, and Oswald is so far gone, lost to him. He’s almost unwilling for things to change. After everything, despite his strange optimism, Ed isn’t sure if he even has hope for them anymore.

During the day, Oswald is softer, much more quiet. When he speaks his voice is a whisper, when he meets Ed’s eyes there’s no light in his gaze, not even the flicker of fierceness. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he keeps to himself, trying to create distance. He can tell Ed doesn’t have the energy anymore to keep up a pleasant act, so he tip-toes around Ed’s fragile heart, careful not to step on the broken shards.

But this isn’t what Ed wanted. Yes, Oswald broke his heart. He crushes it more and more every single day. And Ed knows he feels guilty, can see it in his eyes and the way he carries himself. With no alcohol to satiate him (or rather, to drown his cares and drag him away from consciousness), Ed fears he will turn to other solutions to suffocate his guilt and pain. He fears Oswald will try to take his own life again, possibly with much more success this time.

Things can’t stay this way. It’s too quiet, too cold.

So Ed tries to go back to the way things were. He apologizes. Tries to restore their bond, however weak it may be. He invites Oswald to sleep in the same bed with him again. Oswald declines. Ed tries other things to help him. Makes cup after cup of tea. Surprises him with breakfast. Reads the paper to him like he used to. Leaves little origami penguins around the house for him to find. It’s incredibly draining, especially when most of Ed’s enthusiasm has already seeped out of him little by little.

And Oswald offers him weak, half-smiles that are barely there but Ed holds onto them dearly. He likes to think Oswald’s heart is thawing, no matter how slow a process it is. Oswald still won’t join him at night, but Ed throws on a cheery facade with the hopes he’ll feel comfortable again.

He wakes just as the sun rises, finding Oswald sitting silently on the couch, lost in thought and gazing up at the portrait of his father. Still dressed in his deep purple silk pajamas. Ed thinks he looks sweet.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Ed says with a warm grin, hands clasped behind his back. Chief of Staff Edward Nygma, always trying to please.

“I’m still dizzy,” Oswald says quietly. Almost unconsciously, he reaches down and rubs his leg, grimacing in pain.

“Does that hurt?” A ridiculous question that Ed regrets the second it slips from his tongue. He drops down, carefully taking Oswald’s foot into his lap and cuffing his pajama pants in order to inspect his ankle.

Oswald inhales sharply, jerking his leg from Ed’s grasp. “No!” He tries to roll down his pant leg with shaky hands.

Ed draws his own hands away quickly. “Sorry.” He’s certainly not going to do anything that makes Oswald uncomfortable, but he can’t help that his heart stings at his sudden reaction. 

Oswald’s features soften a bit. A little apologetic. “It’s just- _it looks bad,_ ” he explains, voice small and delicate.

“I’ve seen it before, Oswald. I know it’s not that bad,” he murmurs, offering warm hands to him. “Please let me do this for you.” Ed holds his breath, waiting.

Slowly, hesitantly, Oswald stretches his leg out a bit. Ed rolls his pant leg up, revealing marred, bluish-purple skin. It really _isn’t_ that bad, though. Just veins and bruising on moon-pale skin, not some monstrosity that makes Ed feel anything but love for him. Ed’s fingers drift carefully over his ankle, feeling the muscles tense under his gentle touch. “I remember when you were mayor,” he begins softly, “you overworked yourself so much. Every day we would come home and you would be in so much pain.” He presses his thumbs in, massaging his aching leg as gingerly as possible.

“It’s about the only thing that hasn’t changed,” Oswald says quietly. His eyes are downcast, lashes fanning out over his cheeks, but Ed can still guess what kind of solemn expression or half-formed tears lie there.

What he wouldn’t give to see Oswald smile again, cheeks warm and glowing, eyes bright and sparkling. Ed thinks about kissing him, breathing the happiness back into him. But it’s only a far-off dream, and it’s foolish of Ed to think a kiss (a kiss from Ed no less) will be the thing to bring him back.

Ed sighs. “I think a leg brace might do you some good,” he says, pressing into Oswald’s skin a little more now, kneading the soft flesh and muscle, stroking the tension out of his leg. Oswald bites his lip to hold back a sigh, his eyelashes fluttering as he sinks back into the sofa. “We should look into getting you fitted with one.”

 _We. We should._ He hadn’t even considered how Oswald might take that: the idea of the two of them sharing a future together, acting as one. He coughs nervously.

“Perhaps” is all Oswald replies with and it sends Ed’s heart into a frenzy.

\-------------------------------------------------------

He hates to bring this up now, hates to stir Oswald’s nerves while he’s recuperating, but their little Barbara-Tabitha problem is likely not going to wait patiently until Oswald gets back up on his feet. Putting on a casual air, Ed prepares a morning cup of tea for Oswald and mentions the need to come up with a solution. Oswald sips his drink in concerned silence, brow furrowed in concentration as he listens.

“I think we should look into your… _bomb_ idea,” Oswald begins.

Ed’s about to respond with a list of possible pitfalls when Oswald stops him with a wave of his hand. He carefully sets his teacup on the end table. Ed gives silent thanks that he actually drank all of it.

“We should look into it,” he repeats, nodding, “but as a distraction. Not as the main attraction.” He quirks his eyebrow, a hint of excitement glowing in his eyes at the thought of his dastardly plan.

Ed laughs with glee. “Oh, Oswald, you are _brilliant!_ ” He drops onto the couch next to him, wiggling his eyebrows with enthusiasm. “So what _is_ the main attraction?”

Oswald sighs and crosses his legs. “To be determined. It needs to be something to be remembered, something that makes Gotham shudder at our names.”

And oh, how Ed’s heart leaps at that, at the concept of forming a partnership with Oswald. _The Penguin and the Riddler._ Maybe Ed’s getting a little overexcited about all of this. Maybe he’s reading into it too much. But he can’t help holding onto the hope that he and Oswald will one day be together again. Really, truly together.

“But I’m not much use like this,” Oswald adds lowly, gesturing to his concussed head. “We’ll need to wait.”

Ed nods, deflating a little at the idea of having to _wait._ But, he supposes, patience is a virtue, especially if this plan is to be as explosive as Oswald imagines. Careful preparation and attention to detail will be crucial to their success.

This _will_ be one to remember.

So Ed swallows his eagerness and goes back to being caretaker.

He waits a few weeks. Gives Oswald some time. But it’s not long before he grows anxious, desperate to keep strengthening that little spark of a connection between them.

He was right- it is only a little spark, but it’s one that he’s sure glows brighter with each passing day, each day that they’re together, scheming, pretending they’re back to their old selves. 

Ed decides to take a chance.

“I was thinking- um- Oswald,” Ed begins shakily, “m- maybe we could… go to dinner? Together?” He forcefully nudges his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Ed is sure he’s never seen Oswald so taken aback, as if his words are biting, burning frost.

“It’s just- I never… made it to dinner. When you asked me,” Ed adds, tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh with unsteady fingers.

It’s a dangerous memory to bring up. The hurt that glazes over Oswald’s eyes tells Ed he definitely should not have forcibly reminded him of the night he stood Oswald up. “It’s forgotten,” Oswald eventually chokes out with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

“No, Oswald. I hurt you. That matters.” Ed reaches forward and very delicately takes one of Oswald’s hands into his own, as if Oswald might bite him. Needless to say he doesn’t, but his hand is cold and stiff, soft palm unwelcoming to Ed’s touch. “Have dinner with me. You’ve barely eaten all day.”

After glaring down at their joined hands for a moment, Oswald extracts his own and stuffs it into his pocket. “Fine,” he answers, perhaps a bit more sharply than he had intended, as his eyes soften soon after.

It’s the first time in weeks that Oswald puts the same attention and care into his appearance as he did when he was continuously in the public eye. So when he steps out of his bedroom, Ed’s breath is nearly stolen away. He’s pulled out one of his old suits, a double-breasted, deep indigo pinstripe, but still it looks like new, cleanly pressed and excellently fitted. It certainly hides the concerning amount of weight he’s lost. Oswald has styled his hair in an exquisite swoop, sleek and black, a look he hasn’t donned since before their falling out. There’s a spark in his eyes, something arising from returning to his old self (or as close to his old self as he can get). Dark, arching eyebrows give him a powerful, imperial expression, and his long sloping lashes and black eyeliner add to his mystery and charm. Exceptionally beautiful. Heavenly, even. Ed chokes down the thought that Oswald probably hasn’t the slightest clue as to how handsome he really is. He wonders for a moment how he will look, dressed in a simple black suit and tie, standing next to the most incredible man he’s ever laid eyes on.

It doesn’t matter though. Oswald will always be one to upstage any others. Ed smiles.

Snaps out of his daze.

As Oswald’s balance is still a bit off due to his concussion, Ed rushes up the stairs to give him an arm to lean on. For the slimmest of split seconds, he thinks he can catch the hint of a smile tugging on Oswald’s lips. He bites back a compliment that nearly spills from his tongue, thinking that if he tells Oswald how beautiful he is, he might scowl and think him ingenuine. 

It’s a quiet drive to the restaurant, the two of them tucked into opposite corners of the backseat, but it’s not terribly uncomfortable. A relaxed silence, one that allows Ed to focus on Oswald’s breathing, to get lost in this simple moment.

The instant they step into the restaurant, warm candle glow illuminating their faces, other diners twist in their seats, craning their necks and gasping. _The notorious Penguin lives._ A bit of a smile plays on Oswald’s lips. He hasn’t had this chance in a long time- to just be who he once was.

Then he hardens his gaze. And that’s all it takes: one look from Oswald silences the crowd, has them skittishly lowering their eyes and returning to their meals. Oswald continues to a vacant table in the center of the restaurant, leaving Ed to trail behind, absolutely in awe. They sit, wordlessly, while the hesitant chatter of others gradually grows louder.

Oswald eyes are instantly drawn to the wine menu perched neatly in the center of their little table. He glances at Ed for the briefest of moments before reaching for it and flipping through the laminated pages. His gaze lingers on a section of rich red wines.

Ed drums his fingers on the table. Sucks in a breath.

“What can I get you two?” a waiter chirps, voice breaking through the tense silence.

Oswald catches the look in Ed’s eyes and presses his mouth into a line. He slowly folds up the menu and gingerly places it on the table. “A sparkling water,” he says, leveling his eyes with Ed’s in a firm stare.

“For me as well,” Ed gives the waiter a quick grin before returning his gaze to Oswald. He hands over the menus without breaking away.

They share a silent, knowing glance. Soft and brief. 

Oswald averts his eyes and fiddles with his empty wine glass. Coughs lightly. “You know, this doesn’t change anything, Edward. I know you want things to go back to the way they were, but…” he sighs, “they just can’t.” 

Ed’s heart dips, all the color and heat spilling from his face. “Oswald, I-”

“Twoooo sparkling waters!” The waiter cuts between them, and Oswald disappears behind their arms as they pour two glasses. Ed huffs.

Water fizzes and pops, the only sound between them now. Oswald sighs, arching a beautifully-sculpted eyebrow in a way that sends ice driving straight to Ed’s core. They’re left alone once more.

“Oswald, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this- this _connected_ to anyone else. Not in my entire life. Not until I found you that day in the GCPD.” Maybe Ed can say something, _anything,_ and it will be the right words, the words that make him understand how Ed feels.

“That… starry-eyed infatuation you feel? It will pass,” Oswald’s eyebrows pinch as if his own words are bitter. “And when it does, I cannot say what you’ll feel for me. All I know is, it will _hurt_ every time you look at me.” 

There he goes, breaking Ed’s heart again, grinding it to dust, leaving powder in his chest. _So that’s why he can’t look me in the eyes. It hurts too much._ “This is _not_ ‘infatuation,’” Ed finds himself hissing defensively. How can Oswald do this? Leave that stupid little paper penguin for him, lead Ed back to his heart only to tell him:

“I can’t give you what you want, Ed. Not now-”

The waiter is instantly at their side again, notepad at the ready. “Sooo, what are we thinking about ordering?”

Ed doesn’t even have the slightest amount of energy to restrain himself. Anger bubbles over. He slams his palm on the table, sparkling water sloshing on the wood. Oswald startles, blinking rapidly. “God dammit, _will you give us a minute?!_ ”

The waiter lingers, shocked and shaking, nearly dropping the notepad.

“I swear if you interrupt us one more time-” Ed growls.

Every eye in the restaurant turns on them, a few gasps sprinkled about the crowd of guests. He glances at Oswald. The horrified look in his eyes says it all. Ed swallows roughly, face heated as he lowers his eyes. Perhaps he’d taken it a bit too far.

“Apologies,” Oswald says stiffly, sending the basket case of a waiter on their way.

Even after such an outburst, the others in the restaurant are quick to return to their meals and happy chatter, as if nothing had happened. This is Gotham, after all: this sort of thing happens on the regular.

Ed’s anger simmers but not as strongly as only minutes before. He doubts the waiter will return.

Oswald breathes in deeply. “Well, Edward, I _was_ hoping to eat something-”

Ed latches onto a spoon, grip tight and knuckles white. “There’s something you need to hear, Oswald,” he begins unsteadily. He forces himself to take a deep breath in, a deep breath out. If he’s going to say this, he can’t be fuming and sizzling and ready to fall apart at any second.

Oswald watches, waiting. Eyes searching Ed’s face. He’s _nervous._

“It wasn’t- it wasn’t _fair,_ ” he says, already feeling anger sinking away and sadness clenching in his throat, “what you did to Isabella.”

And Oswald’s eyes widen, and his lips part. Speechless.

“She didn’t deserve it,” Ed sniffles, wiping at the tears that he can’t will away. “But that wasn’t what hurt me the most, Oswald. It was you. My best friend!” Ed smiles, blurry eyes searching the ceiling, trying to remember. Nothing will ever return them to those days as Mayor and Chief of Staff. “My own best friend,” he repeats, quieter, as it sinks in once more.

When he allows his eyes to wander back to the man seated across from him, something breaks inside. A tear rolls down Oswald’s cheek.

“I don’t know how you could do that to me,” Ed whispers, eyes trained on the water glittering and crackling in his glass. “And I don’t know how- I don’t know why but I- I forgive you. Completely.”

Oswald blinks once, taken aback.

“Really, Oswald, I forgive you,” he murmurs again, offering a weak smile.

Oswald’s mouth falls open. 

“And I missed you _so much_ when you were gone. I could barely make it through a single day. You really can’t have one without the other, I guess,” he echoes Oswald’s final words.

“You- you were all I had and-” Oswald sniffs, “-I did such a thing to you anyway. I don’t know why you’ve forgiven me either.” His mouth twists. “I doubt it means anything at this point, but… I _am_ sorry, Edward,” Oswald chokes out, his words seeming to catch in his throat. When he meets Ed’s eyes again, his own are like green glass. Tears stick to his lower lashes, smearing his mascara.

Ed reaches out and clutches Oswald’s hand tightly. “It means everything to me, Oswald. I know you’ve changed. I can see that now,” he says, willing Oswald to believe him. “And I’ve changed too,” he laughs a bit, gaze wandering as he thinks, “I’ve changed _a lot._ ”

Oswald nods, biting his lip, eyes falling to his empty plate.

“And Oswald?” He searches for him, asking to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry too.”

To his surprise, Oswald laughs a bit, sounding almost incredulous. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Ed.”

“I have too much to be sorry for.”

Oswald is shaking his head now, tears dropping from his lashes as he does so. Ed wants to kiss them away, kiss the brightness back into his eyes. Kiss away the hurt that may always linger there, regardless of how they end. 

He reaches forward and swipes at Oswald’s cheek with a gentle thumb. His hand lingers as long as possible before he withdraws it, careful not to step over his boundaries. “I was angry. Hurt. But those things- those things I did to you- that wasn’t fair either.”

“I deserved all that and more.” Self-loathing is a bitter, bloody thing. Ed certainly knows.

“Oswald, you didn’t,” he leans forward, hoping Oswald can read the sincerity deep in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. Right from the start I shouldn’t have just abandoned you like that. You were my best friend!” He swallows. “And I- I left you alone that whole night, I didn’t even bother to call-”

“Ed-”

He’s rambling now, words spilling out faster than he can even comprehend them. “And I tricked you into confessing, I- I _tormented_ you with your father’s ghost, I took your heart in my hands,” he opens his palms, tears falling into them, “and I _ripped_ it to pieces.” He’s choking now, trying and failing to swallow down the lump in his sore throat. It’s so much harder to breathe. “Oswald, I-”

“Edward- Ed, calm down,” Oswald waves a hand around. “There is _nothing_ you can say-”

Ed’s heart seizes, a dreadful anticipation.

“-to make me believe I deserve any less than what I got-”

“But you _didn’t_ deserve it-”

“That’s not the way I see it,” Oswald finishes softly, eyes flicking between Ed’s and the full wine glass of sparkling water. “All of it _hurt_ like hell, I won’t deny that. But you can’t change my mind on this, Ed. No matter how hard you try. I will always _hate_ myself,” he furrows his brow, contempt for himself heavy in his words.

Everything becomes clear to Ed, pure grey sky breaking out between dark clouds. “That’s the reason,” he breathes, eyes widening. “That’s why you- why you tried to-” He’s not sure if he should mention it. Suicide is not a topic one usually mentions in the middle of a restaurant. “You thought it was the only way to- to atone?”

Oswald frowns. “I don’t know if there’s a clear reason _why._ I’m just tired. Of life. Of myself. Of everything.” He reaches shakily for his sparkling water and takes a small sip. Does everything he can to avoid meeting Ed’s intense gaze.

So beautiful, dressed to perfection, body full of a grace and poise unlike anyone else. Yet there’s such a deep sadness hidden under confident silk and brocade.  
Ed thought he had been doing better. Hoped and prayed those feelings Oswald had had miraculously disappeared. He should know better; he’s been there too. Still, it’s never hurt more to be so wrong. “I don’t know what I can do for you but- but I want to be here for you, Oswald.”

Oswald smiles weakly. “You _are_ here for me, Ed,” he responds, voice soft and gentle, a hint of sadness laced within.

Ed needs to tell him. He can’t wait a second more. The words pool on his tongue like honey, a sweet balm for Oswald’s wounds. “I want you to know, Oswald, that I-”

The front doors burst open, glass window panes shattering, evening darkness streaming in. Other guests startle and gasp, their voices falling to a hushed whisper.

Barbara struts to the front on pointed high heels, grinning wickedly. 

Tabitha brandishes her weapon with a devilish glint in her eyes. 

Several nameless lackeys raise their big black guns, chains of ammunition hanging off their bodies.

“Hey boys,” Barbara coos.

They have barely a split second to drop to the floor before a hail of bullets explodes all around them, peppering the walls, shredding tablecloths and curtains and shattering wine glasses in bursts of red. Restaurant guests scream, dropping to the floor to avoid the firestorm. Tabitha laughs viciously. 

There’s a horrible ringing in Ed’s ears but all he can focus on is _Oswald._ He had taken cover just in time, but he’s disappeared from Ed’s line of vision. Ed wonders if, like himself, Oswald is unarmed. Bullet shells clatter to the floor endlessly.

A ceasefire. A pin is pulled, just a little metallic ping in the cacophony but it’s unmistakable.

“Oswald!”

Tabitha tosses the little sphere towards them and it erupts in a cloud of heavy smoke, swirling around Ed, blurring his vision. He can hear Oswald coughing amidst the struggling sounds of other diners.

“Oh come on, let’s play fair!” Barbara snarls. Her red heels click closer, impending doom closing in on them. “Get up!”

He’s reaching, reaching blindly, fingertips stretching painfully as they skim the floor. Ed drags himself under their table, through the dust and broken glass, the ragged red table cloth catching on his buttons. At last his fingers connect with Oswald’s, curling around them, hooking their hands together. He’s able to breathe one sigh of relief.

Oswald’s eyes appear through the thinning smoke, fearful and urgent. A gun glints in his hand. He did come prepared. Ed would laugh joyously if the situation wasn’t so pressing. 

Fog pools in under the table. It’s becoming harder and harder for Ed to keep his eyes open, to focus on Oswald.

“Ozzie…” Barbara singsongs from somewhere in the room. It curdles Ed’s blood. “I didn’t appreciate what you did to my girl.”

“I didn’t appreciate it either,” Tabitha mutters. She drives her heel into a fallen wine glass, glass cracking as she grinds her pointed boot in.

“But, being the forgiving woman that I am, I was _almost_ going to let you live!” Ed can only imagine the tooth-baring grin Barbara’s wearing through all that twisting fog. “Wait-” she laughs shrilly, “no I wasn’t!” She and Tabitha cackle, voices echoing over the whimpering of the frightened guests who remain frozen in place.

“I’m sorry,” Oswald laughs venomously, “but could you spare me the soliloquy and get this show on the road?! I’m actually _begging_ you to kill me now!”  
Ed finds himself chuckling, a warming feeling swelling up inside him upon hearing Oswald’s clever brand of dark humor. _That’s my Oswald._

“Kinda want to savor this, honey,” Barbara hesitates as she nears the table. Keeps a good distance, as if she’s afraid Oswald’s claws will latch onto her ankle from under the table.

“I get Nygma,” Tabitha declares. Ed hears Barbara hum in approval. Oswald grits his teeth, jaw tensing, nails digging into Ed’s hand painfully. “I’ve always _hated_ that stringbean,” Tabitha sneers.

“Back door,” Oswald hisses, tightening his grip on Ed’s hand.

Ed nods vigorously. He lets his gaze linger on Oswald a moment longer, should this be the last time he sees those incredible eyes of the man he loves. He presses his lips into a firm line and steels his heart. “Now!”

Mustering every bit of strength he has, Ed grips the edge of the table and flips it, glasses and fine china sliding to the floor and shattering, just as the onslaught of bullets splits the air again. Countless shots shatter around him, Ed’s breath catching as a few pierce the air unbearably close to them. He drops just as Oswald slips out from under the table cloth, gun poised.

Completely reckless. He’s just become a target waiting to be hit.

“Oswald!” Ed shouts, clambering to his feet. He throws himself forward as bullets pepper almost aimlessly around them, and Oswald squeaks with surprise as Ed yanks him to the ground, soon tumbling down after him.

They press themselves close together, eyes wide, gasping for air. It was so close. Too close for Ed’s liking. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to even out his breath but he _can’t._ His stomach clenches. A drop of sweat rolls down his temple. If he loses Oswald now, after everything, it would surely kill him.

_Why didn’t he bring a gun, a knife, anything?_

Barbara is screaming now, a bloodthirsty battle cry that tears through their ears. She’s gotten reckless. Bullets break and splinter their makeshift barricade but become lodged in its sturdy wood. Chest heaving and eyes flashing, Oswald surges upward again, firing several shots wildly, shocking brightness flaring from the gun barrel each time he squeezes the trigger. He strikes several lackeys, each slumping to the floor in a burst of blood. 

Ed’s heart pounds and the ringing in his ears tears through his head. He peeks up over the table, finding that Oswald has cleared out half of Barbara’s and Tabitha’s assault force. The two women crouch behind booths, dipping in and out of the fog, firing their weapons relentlessly. Oswald drops to the floor next to Ed. Tosses the empty gun cartridge aside.

“What’s the matter, Ozzie?” Barbara calls sweetly. “Out of ammo so soon? Well, you put up quite the fight, I’ll give you that!”

Oswald turns to Ed, eyes deathly serious and mouth in a firm line. His palm presses to Ed’s chest. He tilts his head, towards the back of the restaurant. A silent message.

 _Oh._ Oswald means for Ed to walk out of here with his life, and only _his_ life. A final sacrifice. Ed grits his teeth and shakes his head, already tasting bitter tears. _No. I am not leaving you. Not again._

He takes his hand. Stunned, Oswald squeezes back, his palm warm and face softened. They prepare themselves for their grand escape, breathing quick, hearts beating in unison.

Barbara’s voice pierces through the room. “It could only ever end this way, Ozzie,” she says, feigning a sympathetic tone. “We just can’t let you keep sucking air.”

Just as Ed tenses his muscles and prepares to leap for the back door, Oswald pulls him back roughly. Sirens. Shouting. Lights flash blue and red from outside the darkened window, illuminating the thinning smoke in the room. A few restaurant guests gasp in relief.

A megaphone crackles. “Stand down now!” It’s the gruff voice of none other than James Gordon. Ed huffs a laugh. The one man he truly hates is their savior, their knight in shining armor. “Stand down, Barbara! Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” 

Barbara heaves an annoyed sigh. “Jim, sweetie, we’ve got this taken care of!”

There’s a crackling pause. “I… appreciate the thought, Barbara. But you’ve just opened fire in a restaurant full of civilians,” Jim responds.

“None of them are dead!” Barbara snaps, tone lackadaisical. “Are any of you dead?” She stretches her arms out, gun still in hand as she addresses the other guests. A few risk catching a glimpse of her. “See, they’re fine!”

“Stand down and we’ll go easy on you. You won’t spend the rest of your life in Arkham.”

Ed can’t help but roll his eyes. Jim’s always been one to pick favorites.

“What, and let Penguin and Nygma just get away scot-free?” Tabitha growls.

There’s more fumbling on Jim’s end. Oswald’s hand twitches where it rests in Ed’s.

“Oswald? He’s in there?” Jim has eyes all over the city but this is the first he’s hearing of Oswald being alive. The megaphone crackles again. “Well- I’ll- um- I’ll make sure they face the consequences too-”

Holding onto Oswald’s hand for dear life, Ed launches them out from behind their table barricade, towards the back of the restaurant, bullet shells and glass ground to dust crunching under his shoes. He pushes Oswald behind him, urging him to continue on as Ed keeps an eye on Barbara, who continues her back-and-forth banter with Jim. But Ed’s eye catches on her girlfriend. Tabitha leaps upward, gun aimed, firing several rounds that explode around them. Ed latches onto Oswald and forces him to the ground. Two bullets whip just past him. He doesn’t wait for more.

They dodge around fallen, broken furniture, Oswald nearly tripping along the way. Then, at last, they burst from the back of the restaurant, into the misty alleyway and chilly night. Police lights shift and flash along the brick walls, as the two dash through the shadows, searching for Oswald’s waiting car. It sits close nearby, engine running and exhaust swirling, and they waste no time dashing the last few feet and slipping into the back seat.

As soon as Oswald orders his driver to take them far away from here, Ed reaches for him. His head is spinning wildly.

“Are you okay, Oswald?”

“Y- yes. Yes, Ed. Are you?” His voice trembles.

“I’m okay.”

They fall back into the cushions, breathing quickly as Oswald’s driver whisks them away.

Sweat lays slick on Ed’s skin, his shirt sticking to his stomach. The pounding of his heart is a heavy drum, beating in his chest and ears and eyes. He could’ve lost Oswald. Again. The thought sends adrenaline surging through his veins. Ed finds it somewhat difficult to catch his breath now.

“Ed?”

There’s an intense pressure, but the pain only swells up when Ed looks down to see bright red blooming across his shirt front. Not sweat but blood. Oh dear. It’s a strange feeling, having a bullet punched right through you.

It’s so ironic, Ed has to laugh.

Blood trickles from his lips.

Oswald’s hands are on him. And oh, if only Ed could relish in that feeling. His heart beats a sluggish rhythm, losing blood to pump quickly. 

“I… love you… Oswald,” he breathes, a stuttering gasp through unimaginable pain.

_I drip for him tonight_

Oswald’s spilled so much blood because of him. This is only fair.

“Ed! Ed, stay with me!” Hands pressing tightly to his stomach. He can’t keep his eyes from fluttering. He knows he shouldn’t sleep now but it would be _so easy_ to just let go. “No no no! Ed!”

Oswald is floating away from him, black bleeding in at the edges. Ed can hear him, sobbing his name, voice a frantic gasp, hands clutching at him, stroking his face.

He will dream of him when he goes.

His eyes.

His smile.

Oswald waits for him with hands outstretched. Warm light pulls him closer.

_Don’t leave me, Ed. Don’t you dare._


	4. Your hand forever's all I want: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes to an explosive end.

In all her time as the rightful Queen of Gotham, Barbara has never dealt with someone so _impossibly_ difficult. Just looking at him makes her skin itch with impatience, makes her heart rate skyrocket with rage. It certainly hasn’t been easy getting to this point; she’s spent weeks upon weeks trembling with anxiety and bitter fury. But now, finally, things are looking up.

“Is your boyfriend helping you?”

Oswald’s satisfied smirk falters for just a split second. _Now she’s got him._

“He is, isn’t he? You’ve got Nygma wrapped around your little pinkie finger, huh? That’s sweet,” she coos. “You know he really would do anything for you. And I bet,” she bends over to meet him at eye level, their faces uncomfortably close, “if something were to happen to you, he would come running right away.”

Oswald grits his teeth.

“Should we test that theory?” Tabitha says with a grin.

“Hmm,” Barbara taps her chin, “let’s see what Ozzie can tell us about his little plan, first.” Her hand flies out and latches onto Oswald’s face, sharp nails digging into his soft cheek. “So if your cupcake Nygma is in on this, where might he be?”

Oswald stares blankly, lips sealed.

Barbara gouges her nails into his bruised cheek. “Ozzie, sweetie. If you don’t tell us, and we do find him, I’ll make sure we torture him extra viciously. So why don’t you spare him the extra blood loss?”

But Oswald still doesn’t speak. He only quirks an impatient eyebrow.

Barbara sighs heavily and tosses her hair back. “I am giving you _one last chance,_ Ozzie,” she says, voice lethal and low. She’s done playing around. “Spit it out.”

Oswald bares his teeth, bright shiny red. Blood leaks from the corner of his lips. “Tabitha never misses,” he says with a grin, although his voice breaks. A tear slips from his eye. “He’s dead.”

Oh, happy day. A smile of satisfaction spreads across Barbara’s face.

“He’s lying,” Tabitha hisses in her ear.

She raises an eyebrow. “Is he?”

And Oswald full-on _sobs._ Shoulders shaking, head bowed forward, fists clenched.

So it is true. “I don’t think he’s lying, Tabby. For once,” she says with a snort, eyeing Oswald up and down with disdain. He’s still quivering, little squeaks and gasps escaping his lips as he cries. _How pathetic._

“Tell us the truth!” Tabitha shouts. There’s a blazing fire in her eyes, a frustration. They’ve played this game for far too long, and Barbara can tell it’s wearing on her. She crosses her fingers that this will all be over soon.

“When I fired that shot. _Did. I. Miss?_ ”

“You killed him!” Oswald spits in a broken little voice, wrists tugging at his tethers as his whole body heaves. “You killed my Ed,” he whispers, and he flinches a bit, as if the words themselves are bruising.

Tabitha’s face dissolves into relief, her pinched eyebrows softening. “Well, you’ll be joining him soon,” Tabitha says with feigned warmness. “Say hi to him for me.” She unsheathes a long blade from her boot, giving it a twirl and smirking.

Oswald gapes, eyes glassy and chest heaving. Oh, how sweet this is. Barbara casts her girlfriend a smile before stepping aside so she can get to work.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Tabitha sneers, moving in close and dangling her knife just over Oswald’s eye, “just like I enjoyed killing your mommy. Just like I enjoyed killing your boyfriend.” She tightens her grip on the blade and drags it along Oswald’s cheekbone, a line of blood trailing there.

But suddenly, Tabitha staggers, thrown off balance. The floor quakes and the windows rattle as a deep rumble erupts from somewhere in the city. It’s a lasting, explosive burst that’s far too loud and far too near.

A grin breaks across Oswald’s face, maniacal and devilish. Barbara feels her heart sinking, for reasons she’s not quite sure of. She shares a look with Tabitha and finds her own fear reflected in her girlfriend’s eyes. _Something’s not right._

“What did you do?!” Barbara hisses urgently.

Oswald cackles wildly now, head tipped back, eyes burning with a terrifying madness. He laughs and laughs, the sinister sound echoing around the massive room and sending chills up Barbara’s spine.

Tabitha is reaching for her hand, tugging her towards the doors, repeating insistent, worried words that Barbara can’t really hear.

All she can see is Oswald, raving, delirious, drowning her ears with wicked laughter.

_Something’s not right._

\--------------------------- ~5 weeks earlier~ ----------------------------

He dreams of nothing. Wide stretches of deep blackness. He calls out, but he has no voice.

But he can hear Oswald singing that song. It’s so faint, so muffled he can’t even make out the words as it echoes all around him. He twists and turns but can’t find its source.

The song has become something like an omen. A warning for waiting death that Ed no longer welcomes.

But thankfully, it begins to fade away, and Ed floats in calm silence, black water lapping at his body like a gentle wave. He even begins to believe it might be nice staying here, just letting the soothing currents carry him about and rock him to sleep. Is this what Oswald felt? This impossible peace and serenity?

His lips tug into a smile and his tired eyes begin to flutter closed.

“Edward,” a voice drawls. He recognizes it instantly and tries to follow the sound. Everywhere he looks, there’s only rippling darkness, silk curtains of it that look like waterfalls. 

But finally, a familiar figure steps forward from the shadows; tall, dressed sharply, wearing a hat. For a brief moment, Ed is almost _happy_ to see him, happy to have company in this strange place.

“Well this all feels a little karmic, doesn’t it,” Riddler says smugly. His face seems to blur and come into focus, blur and focus, like he’s sinking underwater. Ed can’t make himself concentrate for much more than a few seconds, his eyes feel so heavy. “Oh, come on, Ed. Don’t die on me,” Riddler chuckles. Then he forcefully snatches Ed by his lapels, tugging him upright, and slaps him. It leaves a dull sting. “WAKE UP, ED!” 

Riddler shoves Ed away and he crumples in on himself. Maybe he’ll rest a little longer; he’s too tired to get up right now, anyway. The blackness around him twists and spins and dissolves. Riddler is still shouting at him as his eyes fall closed.

It feels like an eternity longer that he lies dormant, waiting silently in that emptiness. He awakens again when Oswald’s serenade drifts by his ears.

Gleaming, inky water above him parts. A face drifts closer. Oswald is leaning over him.

“I could easily kill you right now,” he says, voice hushed and eyes cold green stones. But then he takes Ed’s hand, almost reverently, and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. Icy green turns pale and gentle. Loving.

“ _Wake up,_ ” he whispers.

Ed sinks away once more, a pleasant tingling in his hand and Oswald’s name on his tongue.

He doesn’t know if he’s awake or asleep now. One thought keeps swimming about his mind, stirring him: _he misses Oswald._ Surely if he stays here, that won’t mean he’ll never see him again, right? 

There’s an anxious itching under his skin and his heart beats quicker. Ed forces himself to stand, although his body feels like lead. Once again, he tries calling out. He screams Oswald’s name, chest heaving with the effort, but still he makes no sound.

This gentle, placid place suddenly becomes dreadful. Ed needs to get out. He needs to get back to Oswald. 

Oswald, with his stunning eyes, his beautiful smile, his bright, happy laugh.

Ed’s heart lurches. He needs to _live._

As soon as Ed makes this decision, that he will not die, it’s like he’s floating upwards, adrift on fluffy clouds.

But then the pain seeps in. Tremendous at first. Paralyzing. He cries out, agonized. Then, ever so slowly, the horrible ache and pressure begins to subside.

Frantic, muffled voices murmur above, but it’s like his ears are filled with cotton. Lights blind his eyes, making him flinch.

And then, suddenly, he’s thrown up and out of the deep black water, all of his sensations flooding in, overwhelming him. He squints as he resurfaces, struggling to adjust to the white light beaming down on him.

“Ugh. Thank god he’s _finally_ awake.” A woman’s voice. She must be young. Ed catches the flip of long, red hair as she tosses it over her shoulder.

“You’re not helping.” It’s _him._ Ed tries to smile but _god,_ he’s tired.

The girl heaves a sigh. “Weren’t you getting sick of watching this guy lie around for weeks? And isn’t he the one that shot you and threw you in the river? Why are we even helping him? He seems like a _jerk._ ” There’s a dead silence before she makes another noise of disgust. “Ugh, fine. Forgot you two are…you know,” she mutters. 

“Ivy, I am begging you. Go away.”

She scoffs and Ed can hear her stomping away. _What a brat,_ he can’t help but think.

An ice-cold hand lays over his own. His eyes flutter open.

The first thing he thinks when he sees Oswald again is how much he missed those eyes, that nose, those freckles. The second thing he thinks is that Oswald looks _exhausted._

“Edward,” he breathes, a sigh of relief, his chilled fingers pressing into Ed’s arm now. His eyes are red-rimmed, a dark, bruising purple painted under them. An empty glass sits on the side table.

Ed frowns and tries to speak. His throat is painfully dry and his lips are cracked. He coughs, entire body aching as he does so. “You’re hungover,” he finally croaks.

Oswald lowers his eyes, gaze trailing to the empty tumbler. “I thought you were gone,” he murmurs, hurriedly wiping away fresh tears with the back of his hand, rubbing his eyes raw.

Can he really blame Oswald for taking up old habits? After all, he’s been there too. He knows the feeling of losing the one you love most in the world, the feeling of drowning. If his body wasn’t so stiff, he would pull Oswald into his arms. Kiss him tenderly, prove to him that _it’s okay, nothing can separate us now._

Instead he lies there uselessly, gently resting a hand over Oswald’s, as if it’s any sort of real comfort. His eyes wander about the unfamiliar room, lit with the gloomy, gray daylight of Gotham’s cloudy skies. It’s some sort of greenhouse, crowded with countless potted plants and trees. Vines crawl up the grimy window sills, moss sprouts from between the floor tiles. Ed furrows his brow at this strange setting. “How long have I been out?” he finally asks, breaking the silence. 

Oswald’s mouth twists. “About two weeks,” he says solemnly, grip tightening on Ed’s arm. “It was pretty touch-and-go for a while.”

Ed pushes himself to a sitting position, bones cracking uncomfortably as he does. The deep, horrible pain in his gut has subsided tremendously. How fascinating. “I don’t- I don’t understand, Oswald. How am I alive?” 

“Ivy works wonders,” Oswald says, laying a hand over his own stomach.

Oh. So it’s a crazy plant lady that Ed owes everything to. She saved his Oswald, and for that Ed is a bit less annoyed with her.

He fumbles for his glasses on the side table and clumsily shoves them up the bridge of his nose. Everything instantly becomes crisper and brighter, and he can finally see the full extent of the room. It’s even filthier than he had first thought, with dirt and dust scattered on nearly every surface. Still, he’s restless and impatient to get up. Ed peels the blankets off of his legs, tossing the sheets to the end of the bed as he shifts and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress. 

“W- wait, Ed!” Oswald scrambles to stop him, hands flying out and pressing against his chest.

In his eagerness to stretch his legs for the first time in two weeks, Ed falters, stumbling forward, straight into Oswald’s arms. Oswald squeaks as he struggles to keep Ed upright, hands gripping tightly at his back, legs trembling under the weight of him.

“Oh dear,” Ed mumbles, the dizziness making his head swim.

“Ed, are you okay? Can you stand?” He sounds distressed, frantic.

“Sorry.” Ed gradually gains back his balance, finding more even footing, although he still clings to Oswald’s arms. Just a precaution, so he doesn’t keel over again. He meets Oswald’s worried eyes and offers a weak smile.

Oswald’s hands are smoothing all over him. He might collapse again.

“Can you stand?” Oswald repeats, more shaky this time.

“I- yes. Postural hypotension.”

Oswald blinks in confusion, fingers gripping Ed’s shirt tightly.

“Oh- um, dizziness. Low blood pressure. Happens when you stand up quickly after lying down,” Ed stumbles through his explanation, hands waving around in sweeping gestures. It seems to make enough sense though, as Oswald’s wrinkled brow softens. 

Not wanting to worry Oswald, Ed ignores how his head spins and takes a few steps away from the bed, just to prove he’s found his footing. He suppresses a little smile as Oswald follows carefully, hands still latched onto him.

“I’m okay, Oswald,” he finally chuckles, his clothing tugging tight on his body as Oswald refuses to let go of his sleeves.

“Are you?”

“Really.” But Ed can’t deny that he’s disappointed when Oswald actually does release him. He continues his little practice walk around the room, the cold tiles chilling his feet and a draft from the window leaving his skin covered in goosebumps. Even with these heavy flannel pajamas, Ed still finds himself wishing for a robe or extra blanket.

Ivy peeks into the room. “Hey Pengy?” This earns an eye roll from Oswald and an impatient raise of his brow. “Victor’s got your place set up. Pack up your boyfriend,” she says, disdain dripping from her voice as she tosses Ed a look.

“Tell Victor to give us a day. We need to go back to the mansion, and we’ll leave in the morning.”

“The mansion?” she asks skeptically. “But what about Babs and Tabs-”

“ _Don’t_ call them ‘Babs and Tabs,’ Ivy,” Oswald snaps with a grimace. “They’re our _enemies,_ not our gal pals.”

Ivy rolls her eyes and turns to Ed. “Are you as whiny and annoying as your boyfriend? I’ve had to deal with his crying and complaining for two weeks while you lied around like a dead fish.”

Oswald huffs and responds with his own eye-roll, latching onto Ed’s arm and dragging him along, turning their backs to Ivy. She crosses her arms but takes the not-so-subtle cue to leave.

“I know it’s a risk, Edward,” Oswald begins, keeping his voice low, “but I think you might benefit from spending one more night at home.” His fingers are gentle on Ed’s arm.

 _Home._ It sounds so wonderful. The two of them sharing a space, seeking safety and comfort in their proximity. He nods in agreement.

“Not to mention,” Oswald adds, eyeing him up and down, “I’d imagine you want a change of clothes. And a shower.”

Ed gives himself a onceover. He’s a mess, his pajamas rumpled and his hair stringy and unwashed. His cheeks would burn shamefully had the circumstances been different, had he not been half dead for the past two weeks. Being shot gives him an excuse to neglect cleanliness, he supposes.

“And you need to shave,” Oswald continues, beginning to sound a bit like a mother hen.

Ed smiles weakly, rubbing a hand over his stubbled chin.

Bidding Ivy goodbye, they head back to the mansion, just to enjoy the small comfort of a familiar environment and to collect their belongings. After that, they plan to seek the quiet refuge of one of Zsasz’s safehouses, a place that’s unlikely to be assailed by Barbara and Tabitha.

Once Ed finishes with a much-needed shower and shave, Oswald makes them each a cup of tea. They stand by the empty, unlit fireplace (rising smoke from the chimney would certainly give them away), sipping on honey and ginger, lingering in such close proximity it has Ed’s nerves on fire. Oswald doesn’t seem to notice, instead focusing his gaze up at the portrait of his father that hangs just above them.

“Wh-” Ed tries to speak, but it takes him a moment longer to find his voice. He taps his fingers on the hot teacup in his hands and watches the swirl of steam rise. “Where do we go from here?”

Oswald finally meets his gaze, face glowing pale in the moonlight, silver eyes round and questioning.

Perhaps Ed meant to ask what will happen to their relationship. Instead he clarifies: “What’s our next plan of action?”

Oswald launches into a discussion of what Ed’s missed during those two weeks, throwing out guesses as to what Barbara and Tabitha have busied themselves with, naming their allies, tossing in little scathing remarks about Jim Gordon. It’s been a long time since he’s talked so much and with so much animation. Ed allows himself a little smile, hiding his pleasantness behind the rim of his teacup.

“Word has it, our dear friend Jim struck a deal with the Sirens,” Oswald raises a saucy eyebrow, “they’re all best friends now, apparently.” He huffs, annoyed, and sets his teacup on the mantle. “I don’t know _what_ exactly their plan is, other than to throw both of us in prison,” he pauses and grimaces, “or Arkham.”

“Let me guess,” Ed scoffs, “Gordon’s reducing their sentences in exchange.”

“No,” Oswald growls, eyes flashing and fists clenching, “he’s granting them full immunity.” He steps away and flops down onto the sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I need a drink,” he grumbles.

Ed bristles at that.

“I would ask if you want some whiskey, but…” Oswald trails off. He meets Ed’s hardened gaze. “Really, Ed. One drink isn’t a problem. And I _really_ could use one right now.”

But Ed knows that it’s never just ‘one drink’ with Oswald. He sets his jaw. What can you say to change the mind of a person so addicted to drowning themselves? Nothing could be done about his father, he remembers. How can he make Oswald _see,_ make him stop being so infuriatingly careless about his life?

“Unfortunately I’m out of stock,” Oswald finally adds, sensing Ed’s internal disturbance. He clears his throat awkwardly. Changes the subject abruptly. “So… we need to solidify our plans for the gruesome twosome.”

Ed can’t bring himself to chuckle at Oswald’s choice of nicknames. He’s far too blasé about poisoning himself, far too unwilling to hear reason or to be appealed to with emotion. Oswald continues on, rambling, thinking aloud about their options. Ed doesn’t hear a word.

“What are your thoughts, Ed? Because I really don’t know how we’re going to get rid of them, except by killing them. And they could be valuable assets if kept alive.”

Ed shakes himself out of his stupor. “We can take care of them, Oswald. They shouldn’t be too much of a challenge.”

“Not a challenge?!” Oswald spits back, launching himself up off the couch. “Look at what they did to you!” He gestures violently at Ed’s abdominal wound. He presses his mouth into a line. Silence settles in the darkened room. 

Oswald lets out a frustrated sigh. “I could have lost you,” he says firmly, bitterly.

“I’m still here, Oswald. They tried to kill me- they tried to kill us- but we’re both still here,” Ed places a hand on his arm.

He only stares at Ed’s hand on him, unmoving and silent. After what feels like hours he turns away, letting Ed’s hand fall. “We should get some rest,” he says quietly, pausing briefly as if expecting Ed to follow him.

They trudge up the stairs together, both of them leaning heavily on the rail. Ed has the sense he’ll be going off to bed with an unsettled mind and a restless heart.

“There are extra blankets in the dresser, should you need them,” Oswald says when they reach his room. He swings open the door for him but doesn’t move from the hallway.

Ed bites his tongue. He knows he shouldn’t expect them to sleep in the same bed. They hadn’t done so for a while since before Ed got shot. But yet another separation is making his heart twist uncomfortably. He craves nothing more than to just _be_ with him, to lie next to him, to watch his chest rise and fall with each breath as he sleeps. Still, he’ll do as Oswald asks, as Oswald wants.

When he senses that Ed is not going to respond, Oswald gives him a brisk nod, barely letting his eyes linger on him. “Have pleasant dreams, Edward.”

And then Oswald is turning back for his own room and it just feels _wrong._ Ed watches him go, heart in his throat, fingers twitching in his pockets. The door closes and Ed is left in the empty, darkened hallway.

It’s too quiet, too lonely. It reminds him too much of those endless weeks he spent without his pills, without Oswald.

Oswald is here now, but he’s shut away behind another door. _Wrong, wrong, wrong,_ is all he can think as he takes heavy steps towards his own room. He hesitates. Watches the doorknob, silently hoping for… 

Ed really doesn’t know at this point. What is reasonable to wish for? What remains of their relationship, their love? They’re both still here, but do they want to be? 

_Does Oswald want to be?_

Ed slips into his bedroom. Perches in silent discomfort on the edge of the bed, in the dark. Maybe sleep would do him some good. But he’s not sure he’ll even be able to put his mind to rest. He can’t take his thoughts off of him.

He hates this. How long are they going to keep this up? Keeping their distance, keeping their thoughts to themselves, even when they’ve nearly lost each other forever several times. Ed can’t do this, not anymore. He loves Oswald, and at least at one point, Oswald loved him too. If there’s anything left of them, even the tiniest spark, Ed wants to chase after it.

Having not the slightest idea as to what his plan is ( _Talk to Oswald? Look at him?_ ), Ed leaps up from his bed and flings his door open. He rounds the door frame and steps out into the hallway. 

Oswald’s door swings open wildly as if on cue.

He’s not sure if he’s dreaming. If this beautiful man, lingering before him in the pale moonlight, is real. If this is _his_ Oswald, the same one he loved and lost, spilled the blood of and spilled his own blood for.

“Oswald-” he gasps, his heart stuttering and threatening to break through his ribcage.

The tears in Oswald’s eyes and the pinch of his brow and the sinking of his shoulders are almost too much for Ed to handle. There’s something he wants to say, _something_ he wants from Ed. He only breathes Ed’s name.

But that’s all he needs to hear.

Together they close that insurmountable distance between them, lips colliding and pressing with bruising intensity, hands slipping over each other, heated bodies close.

To be so near to him, to give him everything he’s been holding back, is breathtaking, is overwhelming after all this time. Ed’s heart is bursting, _bursting,_ all of the dams finally breaking, his chest flooding with warmth. And god, what he wouldn’t give to keep this moment alive forever, to stay here with his arms around Oswald, with Oswald’s thumbs brushing over his cheekbones and his soft lips incessantly pressing and pulling.

He can taste salt on his tongue.

Oswald parts from him, lips bright pink and fingers fiddling nervously with the buttons of Ed’s shirt. Tear tracks steadily paint his cheeks. He hesitates meeting Ed’s eyes and when he speaks his voice is small and unsure. “Aren’t we better off unencumbered?”

“God no,” Ed breathes before leaning forward once more, claiming his lips, his breath, his soul. He presses on. Oswald’s back meets the wall, Ed’s hands sliding up his sides, ruffling his shirt as Ed’s fingers travel the length of his body and the dip of his curves. Ed cups his jaw, Oswald strokes through his hair.

They devour each other.

Soft, plushy lips. Smooth, heated skin hidden under too many layers. Ed can’t get enough of this man. Oswald sighs against his mouth.

And then Ed’s hoisting Oswald up, encouraging him to wrap his legs around his body. A sudden, deep ache in Ed’s stomach tells him that it would be unwise to put such a strain on his injury by trying to lift Oswald. He winces and flinches, accidentally knocking Oswald’s already-injured head against the wall behind him as his grip on him weakens.

Oswald gasps and hisses in pain. “Oh- oh dear. Oswald, I’m so sorry,” Ed says hurriedly, scrambling to set his love down and make sure he’s alright. He brushes over the back of his head. “I’m so-”

Oswald’s hand flies up, fingers tightening around the back of Ed’s neck as he tugs him down and presses his warm lips to Ed’s. His body curves in towards Ed, and Ed takes the invitation to wrap an arm around his waist and bring him impossibly closer. He clutches at Ed’s lapels, pulling him along as they step through the doorway, Ed pushing him back until he falls onto the bed and sinks into the mattress.

For a brief moment, Ed wonders if this is really happening. If he’ll wake up again with blood dripping from his fingers and Oswald’s silent and still body beneath him. If he’ll remember that Oswald died that day on the pier.

Oswald shuffles back to rest his aching head on the fluffy pillows, Ed chasing his lips all the way. He’s afraid to pause for air, should this moment dissolve into nothing more than another hallucination. But each time he blinks, nothing changes. Still here are Oswald’s glittering eyes, his blush-painted nose and cheeks, his impossibly addicting lips… 

Ed surges downward for another taste, and Oswald squeaks a bit as he’s pressed further into the mattress. Their fingers become entangled, each clutching fiercely at the other as Ed deepens the kiss even more so. Oswald parts for a breath, but is quick in claiming Ed’s lips again.

Their pace quickens as they tug at each other’s clothing, desperate to remove those remaining layers that separate them. Oswald’s fingers are trembling as he reaches for Ed’s buttons, for his belt buckle. Ed strips out of his shirt, tossing it aside, and Oswald’s cold hands hesitantly smooth up and over his chest and shoulders. But his eyes are caught on the damaged flesh of Ed’s stomach. His matching wound.

Ed covers his hands gently, urging him to meet his gaze. Oswald looks away as if he’s seen something he shouldn’t have.

“It’s okay,” Ed says earnestly. Some certainty returns to Oswald’s eyes now.

Ed helps Oswald shed the last of his layers, exposing soft, pearly-white skin. He’s even more stunning than Ed had always imagined. He wants nothing more than to _touch,_ to feel his velvety softness under his fingertips and to be burned by his feverish skin. Ed indulges himself. 

And then Oswald sobs, turning his cheek to the pillow. In this moment of complete trust and surrender, he seems to be overwhelmed with the intimacy. How can he go from drowning and pouring out all of his blood only to end up here, in the arms of the man who put him through hell?

“We can stop,” Ed whispers.

Oswald bites his lip and shakes his head. 

“Oswald, are you _sure?_ ” he asks once more.

“I’m sure.”

This has been a long time coming for both of them. It’s painful, confusing, uncertain to give in like this. But neither of them can let go. Neither of them _wants_ to let go.

Tears continue to slip down Oswald’s flushed cheeks. Ed hushes him gently, lips trailing down to his stomach, fingers skimming over his sides, his thighs. There’s a moment where, finally seeing the wound he created, he feels this clenching in his heart and he just wants to hit himself. It looks so small now, just a little indentation, but that one bullet was all it took to tear down Oswald’s entire world. He presses a gentle, reverent kiss to the mangled scar, feeling Oswald tense and shake as he does. There’s no reversing what he did- what either of them did- but he can move forward, only leave touches full of adoration. Ed drops countless more kisses along his body until he reaches his lips again. “I love you, Oswald,” he breathes against his mouth.

“I-” Oswald squeaks, eyebrows knitting together, “I love you,” he finally whispers, voice almost silent.

Their lips meet again. And again.

And Ed makes love to him. Just like he’d always imagined, slowly, passionately, but there’s not a drop of blood to be seen on the sheets. No, this is different. Oswald is right here, chest heaving with each breath, heart fluttering in his thawed ribcage. Real. Alive. 

Ed’s own shoulders begin to shake as he sobs silently. For joy, maybe. He’s not entirely sure why. Oswald wipes away his tears, bitter salt on his fingers. Ed presses closer, focusing on the warmth of Oswald’s legs bracketing his waist and the pressure of Oswald’s heels on his back.

He thinks that at last they understand each other, and that Oswald knows how he feels about him. The way Oswald gazes up at him, cheeks flushed, lips red, eyes soft- it all makes Ed wonder if maybe, finally, he’s proven to Oswald the depth and intensity of his devotion.

They drift to sleep, bodies curled in towards each other, Ed pressing sleepy kisses to Oswald’s forehead and Oswald absently tracing little patterns on Ed’s chest until his eyes slip shut and his hand falls to rest between them.

It’s the most restful night of sleep that Ed’s had in a long time.

\-------------------------------------------------------

When he wakes, Oswald is still next to him, sound asleep, curled up comfortably under silk sheets. Beautifully peaceful, not a single line of worry on his face. For the first time without feeling even an inkling of hesitation, Ed leans down and presses feather-light kisses to his temple, his cheek, the slope of his nose. _This is right. This is how it should be._

He smiles as Oswald stirs a bit and considers waking him, just to gaze into those eyes. But after months of heavy stress and pain, Oswald really just needs to rest. He tugs a quilt up over his sleeping form, hands gently massaging him, and then wanders off to the shower with warmth in his heart.

All the tension in his muscles easily seeps out of him as soon as he turns the faucet on. Showers really do seem to work wonders for him. He tilts his head back and soaks it all in.

But then he can’t help but smile to himself, imagining the sleeping man in the other room. The shower steam and hot water is incredibly comforting, making his whole body tingle, but he finds himself eager to return to Oswald.

Ed gives himself just a little more time. Scrubs Oswald’s shampoo into his hair, lathers his body soap on his skin. It’s so intimate, so domestic, that it makes his cheeks glow with heat and his heart skip a beat. He steps back under the water, letting Oswald’s wonderfully-scented products wash from his body and down the drain in a frothy swirl. When Ed gets out, he adjusts a towel around his waist and dares to use a touch of pomegranate lotion (Oswald’s favorite). Maybe Oswald will notice. And maybe it will be a comfort to him, a familiar, lovely scent that reminds him of better days.

Ed ruffles his hair with a towel and gives it a quick once-over with the blow dryer. At this point, he doesn’t have the patience to dry it completely- he’s more anxious to cuddle up with Oswald again.

But they have work to do, he remembers. They don’t exactly have all the time in the world to spend idly, without a thought to city-wide takeovers and plots for revenge. Ed sighs and lingers in the hallway. Oh, maybe he’ll return to bed. Just for a little while, just to savor the warmth and comfort and to relish in his closeness to Oswald. To crawl under the covers and heavy blankets with him, pressed together, skin still hot from the shower, would be absolutely heavenly. It’s just what they need.

But he rounds the corner to the bedroom and finds Oswald alert, his guard up again.

“Ed?” Oswald quivers in the bed, looking small, looking defensive. He thought Ed had left. Tricked him, used him up only to abandon him again. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Ed’s heart crumbles and he goes to him, climbing into the bed and gathering him into his arms. Oswald clutches him back, willingly accepting Ed’s touch, allowing himself to fall into it. “I’m not going anywhere, Oswald,” he whispers into his hair. Oswald turns and presses his nose into Ed’s neck. “You thought I was your one true love. Well, you’re mine.”

They fall back onto the pillows and lie together quietly, foreheads touching sweetly. Ed strokes his cheek carefully with his knuckles, feeling Oswald’s eyes on him the whole time. Then he nestles closer, almost as if he’s comforted by Ed’s touch. He exhales softly.

Ed doesn’t know how long they stay like that, only that it’s not long enough. They’ve both waited a lifetime for this, to love and be loved, and it’s only fair they should have an eternity together. But now, they have plans to make, actions to take. Trouble threatens on the horizon and shows no signs of backing down. They need to fight for the future they long for.

“We should get to work,” Ed finally says, reluctantly. Oswald nods in agreement.

They make the bed together in sweet silence. Hands smooth over the sheets and fingers meet in the middle. Ed pauses to intertwine their fingertips and clasp their palms together, and Oswald offers a gentle half-smile. For the first time in a while- no- for the first time _ever,_ this feels like _their_ bed. Like something meant to be shared between them, not something Ed is forcing himself into like an intruder. Oswald _wants_ him here, now.

Ed makes them breakfast. Just something simple for their last meal under this roof: eggs, toast, fruit, and hot coffee. They gaze out the windows at the softening morning light, their hands finding each other on top of the table. It’s quiet and beautiful. Oswald’s palm is warm in his own.

Then they pack. Oswald is reluctant to leave the comfort of the mansion, but he knows they’ll be far safer in the house Zsasz prepared for them. They’ll be able to finalize plans and prepare for their attack on Barbara and Tabitha without distraction or harm. Besides, Ed likes the idea of tucking into their own private space, plotting together and just being near each other.

Oswald finds him downstairs once they’ve both stuffed a few bags full of necessities and clothing. There’s tension in his shoulders, a kind of nervous anticipation. “I have a plan,” Oswald declares, light in his eyes. 

Ed feels a rush of adrenaline at the words. With everything going on, he’d nearly forgotten just how much he _craves_ this. Scheming is a joy on its own, but scheming with the one you love is something deliriously exhilarating. He leans forward, excited.

“We are going to take Barbara and Tabitha down, _brick by brick,_ ” Oswald says lowly. It sends shivers down Ed’s spine.

“You said our bomb could work as a distraction,” Ed reminds him with a grin. “A distraction for what?”

Maliciousness glints in the pale green of Oswald’s eyes. “Not only are we going to demolish their club, we’re going to take away every single resource they possess,” he smiles slyly. “They will have _nothing_ to help them rebuild, once we’re through with them.”

Ed is practically bursting with anticipation now. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for Oswald to continue.

“And we’re going to begin with their greatest asset of all. _Money._ ”

Had this been anyone else, Ed would have deflated upon hearing that the grand plan involves a simple bank heist. But this is _Oswald._ He trusts his capability entirely and knows that whatever idea he comes up with is going to absolutely brilliant. After all, Ed would follow him to his death, to the ends of the earth. 

“So this is where your bomb will come in handy. You’ll set it up in the Siren’s club and detonate it, while _I_ pay a little visit to the bank.” He quirks his eyebrow, seeming quite pleased with this plan.

But then it strikes Ed. “My blueprints…” he trails off apprehensively. They must have gotten lost in his apartment, entirely forgotten the minute he chased Oswald back to the docks. 

“You don’t have them?” Oswald asks impatiently, more of a statement than an actual question. “Well, where are they?”

Oh dear. He’s upset Oswald again. This had been going so well! “I- I left them in my apartment,” he says hurriedly, shoving his glasses up his nose. “It’s okay. It’s okay, we’ll just stop by and grab them-”

“You do realize that every appearance we make puts us in more danger, right? I am _not_ going to watch you get shot again, Edward,” his stern voice shakes. So he’s worried, not for himself, but for Ed.

He reaches for Oswald, circling around him to hold him gently from behind. This time, Oswald doesn’t relax into his embrace; the tension in his muscles and the anxiety quivering in his veins are palpable.

“It won’t happen again,” Ed murmurs. “Whatever plans they have, we’ll find a way. We’ll stay two steps ahead. We’ll protect each other.”

Oswald finally and reluctantly agrees to drop by Ed’s apartment on the way to their safehouse. They need those blueprints either way, and to have Ed redesign them from scratch would set them too far back. The clock is ticking, their victory is waiting.

They stay until nightfall. Oswald slips behind the steering wheel rather than being taken by the driver (a man who he suspects, if caught by Barbara and Tabitha, would likely give them up quickly to avoid torture). It’s an uncomfortable drive with Oswald on edge, his eyes flicking from side to side, hands tight on the wheel, and shoulders tense.

Ed finds himself releasing a breath of relief when they pull up to the curb, rain pattering on the windows, bright neon lights flashing and illuminating the grimy back alleys. They step into the misty night, quietly shutting the car doors and treading carefully through puddles pooling on the sidewalk so as not to make a sound. Oswald is constantly alert as they make their way inside, watching the shifting shadows under the dim streetlights, jumping at the distant screech of a car slamming its brakes. Still, they reach the wide, metal door of Ed’s former home without a threat.

Ed unlatches the door and slides it open and-

He sucks in a breath.

He had forgotten the state his apartment was in when he’d left it. Overturned tables, broken glasses and dishes… 

The piano. Split in two, completely pulverized. 

It’s barely recognizable now, a piece of their past shattered to bits. Oswald is silent, gaze sweeping over the crushed keys and splintered wood, but Ed can see it all in his eyes. The pain. The sadness. The shock.

Oswald stuffs his hands in his pockets and waits stone-still as Ed fishes in the wreckage of his apartment for his blueprints. The tension is so suffocating that Ed is almost frantically tossing his belongings aside, desperate to find his stupid bomb designs so they can get the hell out of there. Oswald fixes his gaze out the window. 

This is taking too long. Ed’s on his hands and knees now, sifting through the rubble, the rough floor scratching his hands and leaving little splinters in his palms. He finally finds the crumpled blue papers under the wreckage of his dining table. He shakes out the broken glass and dust. It’s torn in some places but it will have to do.

Neither of them speaks a word until they’ve left. Oswald presses himself into Ed’s side as they walk, a silent comfort.

With their bags packed into the trunk, they drive into the night, speeding towards Zsasz’s safehouse. It’s not far; in Zsasz’s opinion, putting them right in the middle of the city is the best way to hide them, while a location on the outskirts of town might look a bit more suspicious. They pull up behind a run-down building with boarded-up windows, one that looks like it might have been elegant once. One of Zsasz’s heavily-tattooed henchwomen waits by the backdoor with the key in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She places the key in Oswald’s palm without a word, flicks her cigarette into the gravel, and stalks off towards her motorcycle parked in a shadowy back alley. They watch as she rides away, wheels kicking up dust and headlight beams illuminating the high brick walls of the old buildings.

Grimacing, Oswald unlocks the rusting back door and shoves it open, revealing a narrow, dark hallway. Peeling damask wallpaper and wooden wainscoting cover the walls. Not wanting to touch anything, Ed keeps his hands in his pockets as they move slowly towards a set of glass doors at the end of the tunnel.

Oswald swings open the double doors and Ed follows him into the next room.

Oswald nearly chokes.

It’s a library.

Ed must admit his heart jumps a bit, and that his thoughts stray briefly to Isabella, but he settles just as quick. That’s in the past. It’s done, it’s over. He doesn’t give it a second more of consideration.

This place is quite nice, too. It’s small and cozy, lit with warm candlelight, its bookshelves stacked high with titles that intrigue Ed, and its dark wooden furniture a bit dusty but still gleaming. There’s a long, wide workbench by the windows, strewn with toolkits and rulers. An acceptable place to work. A fire glows in the hearth, its heat quickly filling the room. He sags a bit when he finds they’ve only been given two separate cots to sleep on, but figures they can push them close together.

Glassy-eyed, Oswald excuses himself to the next room, slipping away just as Ed tries to reach for him. Ed sighs and wanders to the bookshelves, examining the yellowed pages of old medical works. They’re incredibly outdated but nevertheless fascinating, filled with scribbled cursive handwriting and detailed anatomical diagrams. He sinks into a leather armchair and flips through one of them, keeping an eye on the doorway, should Oswald return.

And he does eventually, redressed in silk pajamas, face still lined with worry, eyes still sad. He clearly does _not_ like it here.

Ed sets his book aside. “Oswald, come sit with me,” he says, putting on a cheery smile and shuffling to the side, giving Oswald some room in the spacious armchair. He pats the cushion.

Oswald hobbles over hesitantly, pauses, and carefully sits down, pressing himself to one side of the chair so as not to touch Ed.

“It’s this place, isn’t it?” Ed blurts out.

Oswald blinks but is silent.

Ed turns towards him. “If we’re going to move on, Oswald, we need to actually _move on,_ ” he says, taking his hands.

Oswald gazes at him tearfully, lips parting.

“I _want_ this for us,” Ed continues. “But we can never be happy if we keep looking back.”

It’s then that Oswald does something completely unexpected. Mouth in a firm line, he leans closer and wraps his arms around Ed, his warm cheek pressing against Ed’s neck. Winding his arms tightly around Oswald in return, Ed buries his nose in his hair and just _breathes._ He’s finally understanding that this was never going to be easy, that the road to their future is a rocky one paved with pain and frustration and tears. But _god, it’s worth it._

After a while, once their eyes are heavy and tired, they each settle into their respective cots (which Ed did end up pushing together). It’s a restless night of tossing and turning; Oswald needs better support for his back and his leg than what this stiff bed provides. Ed offers him his own pillow, and when Oswald refuses it, he tucks it under Oswald’s leg himself. Oswald grumbles about it and glares at him, to which he responds with a tight-lipped smile and a quick kiss. After that, Oswald sleeps peacefully until dawn, and Ed as well.

Then they get to work, like they’re supposed to. 

While Oswald insists he should let Zsasz’s men build the bomb so he can just rest, Ed adamantly refuses to allow it. Disliking the idea of his own blueprints becoming someone else’s project, Ed begins construction, poring over his plans and tinkering at his workbench for hours a day. It’s good for him to stay busy, rather than to lie around for hours, groaning over a gunshot wound that, quite frankly, he deserves. And it doesn’t hurt terribly, thanks to Ivy.

Oswald spends a lot of time on the phone with Zsasz, smoothing out their plans. Other times, Ed finds him sitting alone, silent and still. As if on instinct, Ed makes him ginger tea in their little kitchenette. 

“How are you feeling today?” Ed sets the teacup on the side table and settles beside him in the armchair.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Oswald mutters.

“What do you mean?”

Oswald gestures vaguely to the files and blueprints strewn around them. “This. All of this. It’s pointless.”

Ed feels his face fall. 

“I-” Oswald’s mouth works open and closed as he searches for the words to describe what he’s feeling. Tears slip from his eyes. “It’s pointless,” he repeats.

“It’s not,” Ed says softly. “Oswald, this plan _will_ work.”

Oswald only shakes his head slightly, his eyes trained on the floor and his hands placed in his lap.

“Oswald, you’ve had this entire city under your thumb before. You’re strong, you’re brilliant. You know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t think I do,” Oswald replies in just a whisper, “not anymore.”

Ed is at a loss for words. Is there anything he can say that will really help? He wraps an arm around Oswald, pulling him in so their bodies are tucked comfortably together. Oswald leans into him a little more, resting his cheek on Ed’s shoulder.

“We’ll figure this out, Oswald. Together.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

The night draws nearer and Ed is constantly on edge, hands restless, knees shaking. He’s excited, of course, but there’s an underlying anxiety, too. This is a good plan. He knows that. But what if something goes wrong? What if something happens to Oswald? _What if he gets hurt again?_

Oswald notices how his jaw tenses and how his legs bounce. He smooths a hand across Ed’s shoulders, rubbing gently, just briefly. Ed isn’t sure if the simple, sweet gesture calms him down or wires his nerves. Either way, he _loves_ it.

Oswald’s been a bit more open lately, extending a gentle hand to comfort Ed, and just being tender in his quiet, melancholy way. He’s certainly not so unreservedly sweet consistently, not with his hurting heart, but he’s very gradually returning some of Ed’s affectionate expressions.

But Ed’s noticed some other changes in Oswald, too. Things that make him worry (aside from Oswald’s obvious depression). Shaking hands. Frequent headaches. Nausea. Insomnia. It’s sapping most of Oswald’s energy, leaving him utterly exhausted before it’s even time to have breakfast.

He’s going through withdrawal.

But maybe Ed _had_ noticed it coming on all along. It’s definitely been getting worse, especially these days. Oswald’s been tossing and turning throughout the night, every night. Ed wakes up and presses cool, damp cloths to his feverish forehead, hoping it’ll help him settle down. Nevertheless, he sweats through his silk pajamas and sheets and is saturated by morning. Some days he spends hours in the bathroom, his cheek pressed to the cold tile floor. Ed rubs his back and tries to give him little bits of food but nothing appeals to him anymore. Other days Oswald forces himself to push on, even with a violent headache blooming and bursting in his skull.

Now that Ed’s being slapped in the face with this, he can’t deny it any longer. It was just too hard to see Oswald suffering yet again, so it was all too easy to ignore it, he guesses.

The night has arrived at long last, and Oswald is in terrible pain. Sweat lays slick on his skin and his headache is brutally painful. Still, he insists that they carry the attack out as planned. No more waiting.

Oswald downs some medicine to help with the pain, and, after dressing in several heavy layers of clothing, meets Ed in the main room of their little library. Even though he’s in incredible pain, he still fusses over Ed, whose hands tremble with anticipation. Ed assures Oswald that he’s okay, but he can’t focus on anything but his own pounding heart. Oswald strokes a hand down his arm, trying to comfort him. Ed tugs him into a fierce hug, holding him tight, praying that he’ll never have to let go. Oswald’s warm, firm body pressed to his own soothes him a bit, and even more so when Oswald’s hands massage over his back.

Holding back tears, Ed shrugs on his coat and collects his duffle bag of supplies. “Let me go with you,” he pleads uselessly, knowing they can’t change the plan at the last second.

Oswald shakes his head, eyes glassy. “I’ll be okay, Ed. I’ve got Victor, anyway.”

“Can you- can you just go over the plan again? Please?” Ed asks weakly.

Oswald steps forward, taking his arm and leading him out of the library, down that narrow hallway they passed through the night they arrived. It’ll be time to part ways soon. Ed is struggling to breathe.

“Victor called just a few minutes ago, and he says Barbara and Tabitha are at the GCPD. It’s unlikely they’ll interrupt us,” Oswald explains, clearly trying his best to calm Ed down. They pause just in front of the back door. “It’ll give you the chance to place the bomb in the Siren’s club, get out, and detonate it.”

Ed nods, taking a steadying breath.

“Meanwhile, Victor and I will infiltrate the bank, clear out their money, and meet you back here. Barbara and Tabitha will be so distracted by the massive explosion, they won’t even know what hit them,” Oswald chuckles a little nervously. “Okay, Ed?”

While he doesn’t feel a whole lot better, he offers Oswald a smile as he swings the door open. Brisk night air chills him to his bones, stealing away his breath. Zsasz waits in a car in the back alley, headlight beams bright enough to blind Ed.

“Well, this is goodbye for now,” Oswald says resolutely. “Stay safe, Edward. Make sure you call me when you’ve got the bomb set up.” Oswald touches a gloved hand to his cheek, stroking gently. Ed covers it with his own, wanting to remember this feeling. Oswald offers a half-smile, as much as he can muster with his headache and his worry, and reluctantly turns away, hobbling to Zsasz’s car.

Ed’s breath hitches as Oswald pauses before slipping into the passenger’s side. “But Ed?”

“Yes?” His hands are numb and they tremble.

“If I don’t answer, detonate it.”

And then he’s gone. There’s a sinking feeling in Ed’s chest as Zsasz’s car rounds the street corner and disappears from view.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Talking to Jim Gordon is not high on the list of Barbara’s favorite activities. He’s dull, dramatically gruff, and self-righteous, among countless other unsavory things. Trying to scheme with him is impossibly worse. There’s no collaboration, no real discussion, only him making demands and barking orders. It makes Barbara bristle, and she can tell Tabitha is just barely restraining herself, too.

Still, they suck it up and drag themselves to the GCPD, just to hear Jim drone on and on about taking down Penguin and Nygma. He drops little intimidations into his speech that make Tabitha smirk incredulously. As if Jim Gordon could ever be a real threat to them.

“You know, this would be so much easier if you just let _us_ take care of things,” Tabitha snaps at him, fingers tightening around her styrofoam coffee cup. “Stay out of it, we’ll get it done.”

“How do I know I can just let you two out of control?”

Barbara steps forward, batting her lashes. “Have we _ever_ been a problem before?” she asks sweetly, trailing a finger down his arm a bit flirtatiously, a bit patronizingly.

Jim scoffs.

“Fair enough,” Barbara concedes. “But- we want Penguin and Nygma gone just as much as you do. They’re still a threat to us, so we’re willing to do whatever it takes.”

“So how exactly do you plan on bringing them in? And let’s be clear,” Jim adds, tone darkening, “if you fail to help us, immunity is out of the question.”

Barbara huffs.

The call comes as if on cue.

Two figures were spotted visiting the Bank of Gotham at this strange time of night.

Exasperated, Barbara pinches the bridge of her nose. It just never ends, does it? “Jim,” she says with a peeved smile, “would you excuse us? There’s just a little something we need to take care of.”

Without waiting for Jim’s response, she latches onto Tabitha’s arm and struts briskly to the door.

“I am _so_ sick of these two,” Tabitha grumbles, holding onto Barbara as well. “This isn’t even that fun anymore.”

“Believe me, I know the feeling,” Barbara says, rolling her eyes. 

They step into the chilly night, under a beautiful velvet sky sparkling with stars. She tugs her coat tighter around herself and presses closer to Tabitha to stay warm. Someday soon they’ll own this city, without threat from that damn bird and his boyfriend. And Barbara will finally _breathe_ and just enjoy her time with Tabitha.

Leaning on each other, they near the bank, the massive shadow of a building looking much more foreboding. Dim lights glow from within. Tabitha draws her weapon. They approach the doors slowly, pushing one open just a crack.

Sure enough, as they peer inside, two figures move stealthily across the vast room. One short and with a limp. The other tall and sauntering about with a casual confidence. Penguin and Zsasz. Barbara furrows her brow. Where is Nygma? God knows he’s never separated from his precious Oswald.

Together, they push through the heavy doors, announcing their presence.

“You know, you two aren’t half as sneaky as you think.”

The two men whirl around. Tabitha throws her whip, catching Zsasz around the ankles and tugging him down to the floor. As he falls, he fires his guns aimlessly but misses, instead striking the ceiling. Breathing heavily, Tabitha kicks his guns across the marble floor, his weapons sliding far out of reach.

Just as Oswald is about to lunge forward, claws at the ready, Barbara strikes him across the cheek with her gun. He stumbles to the floor with a thud and spits blood on the tiles. 

“Easy as pie, huh?” Barbara chirps to Tabitha, as her girlfriend snatches a couple of chairs from behind the teller’s desk and forcefully shoves Zsasz into one. Tabitha gives her a quick smile in response. Barbara hauls Oswald up by the lapels and flings him carelessly into the other, then takes to restraining him to it.

“Nice, I get a rolly-chair,” Zsasz remarks with amusement, attempting to swivel in the leather desk chair. Oswald groans in annoyance. Tabitha puts an end to Victor’s fun when she yanks his rotating chair to a halt and roughly winds a chafing rope around his ankles and wrists.

“I like it a little tighter,” Zsasz says, winking as he tugs on the rope around his wrists. “But Penguin’s not into bondage,” he tosses his head towards Oswald, who rolls his eyes. “He’s a hard one to please,” he adds, grinning.

“Victor!” Oswald scolds, cheeks burning bright red. 

At this point, Barbara has heard more than enough and her patience is wearing paper-thin. “Tabitha, honey, take Victor somewhere else. Let him stew for a while,” she gives a dismissive flap of her hand.

“Aw, come on,” Victor whines. “I thought we were gonna have some fun.”

“Try anything and I’ll blow your head clean off,” Tabitha mutters as she begins to wheel him away. It’s a comical scene, Zsasz being pushed around on a rolling office chair, but Barbara doesn’t have it in her to laugh. Not now. They have yet to taste victory.

“You’ll be back for more,” Zsasz calls back to Barbara. “I’m irresistible!”

Tabitha and Victor disappear around a corner, the sound of footsteps and rolling wheels fading fast.

Barbara turns back to Oswald. “So! You’ve sunk so low that you’ll steal from a poor girl’s bank account?”

“You’re hardly struggling financially,” Oswald grumbles, wincing.

“You know, you really are the gum on the bottom of my shoe,” Barbara continues, crossing her arms. “I will get rid of you once and for all, but first, tell me: what the _hell_ are you doing in _my_ bank?”

Oswald snorts. “What do you think? I’m stealing your money.”

She flutters her eyelashes impatiently and waits for him to elaborate. He only glares up at her with his _stupid_ eyebrow raised. “Stealing my money for what?!” she finally snaps, rolling her eyes with impatience. She _knows_ he’s playing dumb, but she just doesn’t have the energy to deal with it.

“Because I wanted it,” Oswald sneers, narrowing his eyes.

Clenching her fists so tightly they hurt, Barbara lets out a frustrated screech. Tabitha returns a moment later and puts a hand on her arm.

“Are you okay?” she asks Barbara softly, just before tossing a stinging glare at Oswald.

Barbara lets out a long exhale and shakes herself off, trying to release the tension built up in her muscles. “I’ll be alright, Tabby,” she replies sweetly. “But I’ll be much better as soon as we off this rat.”

Tabitha nods, but her eyes are still laced with concern.

“Now,” Barbara claps her hands together, throwing on her best commanding and confident voice, “Ozzie here was just about to tell us _why_ he’s stealing our money.”

Oswald presses his lips together, furrows his brow, and pretends to think for a second. “No, I wasn’t,” he chuckles.

Another deep breath keeps the anger simmering under Barbara’s skin from boiling over. “Is your boyfriend helping you?”

Oswald’s satisfied smirk falters for just a split second. _Now she’s got him._

“He is, isn’t he? You’ve got Nygma wrapped around your little pinkie finger, huh? That’s sweet,” she coos. “You know he really would do anything for you. And I bet,” she bends over to meet him at eye level, their faces uncomfortably close, “if something were to happen to you, he would come running right away.”

Oswald grits his teeth.

“Should we test that theory?” Tabitha says with a grin.

“Hmm,” Barbara taps her chin, “let’s see what Ozzie can tell us about his little plan, first.” Her hand flies out and latches onto Oswald’s face, sharp nails digging into his soft cheek. “So if your cupcake Nygma is in on this, where might he be?”

Oswald stares blankly, lips sealed.

Barbara gouges her nails into his bruised cheek. “Ozzie, sweetie. If you don’t tell us, and we do find him, I’ll make sure we torture him extra viciously. So why don’t you spare him the extra blood loss?”

But Oswald still doesn’t speak. He only quirks an impatient eyebrow.

Barbara sighs heavily and tosses her hair back. “I am giving you _one last chance,_ Ozzie,” she says, voice lethal and low. She’s done playing around. “Spit it out.”

Oswald bares his teeth, bright shiny red. Blood leaks from the corner of his lips. “Tabitha never misses,” he says with a grin, although his voice breaks. A tear slips from his eye. “He’s dead.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Despite his anxieties, Ed can feel the excitement building. _This_ is what he loves doing. These moments when his heart races, when the adrenaline rushes through him, give him that unmistakable feeling of raw power and command. He only wishes Oswald could be by his side right now.

Ed tugs on his leather gloves as he approaches the Siren’s. He slips into the darkened club with a quick glance behind him. There’s a looming presence, he can feel it, but no one is following him.

It’s so different, being here at night. No longer bustling with party-goers dressed in glitter and looking extravagant, no longer filled with heavy, pulsing music and flashing colored lights. The club looks so much smaller, so much more _unremarkable._ Perhaps Gotham won’t miss it when it’s gone.

Ed throws aside the velvet curtains and hurries down the stairs to the basement, his duffle bag weighing heavy on his shoulder. The air chills instantly as he steps into the drafty room. He flips the switch on the wall and the grimy, yellowish lights flicker on, revealing just how vast the basement is.

He remembers being here before, when Barbara and Tabitha held him captive for information. When Oswald (who he didn’t realize at the time was actually Oswald) burst in, guns blazing, Zsasz’s rocket launcher at the ready. Wood splinters and bits of metal crunch under his shoes as he walks carefully through the rubble and the remnants of the massive wooden crates that Zsasz obliterated.

Ed crouches down and gets to work, unzipping his duffle bag and pulling out all of his supplies. Very gingerly, he lifts the bomb out of the bag and places it beside him on the floor. 

“Hey, Ed.”

He stops short and heaves a sigh. Riddler hadn’t appeared in a long while, and Ed was beginning to wonder when he would come sauntering back into his life. “What,” Ed snaps.

“So, he’s different, huh? Our darling Ozzie,” Riddler says, adjusting his shirt cuffs. 

Ed grunts, not wanting to engage.

“He’s still pretty quiet, don’t you think?” He sighs and thinks for a moment. “But the sex? Now _that_ was amazing. You really need to do that again,” he chuckles, “but maybe less crying this time around? I mean _jeez._ ”

Ed rolls his eyes but bites his tongue, and instead focuses on nimbly arranging the colored wires. He is _not_ going to screw this up just because Riddler is running his mouth.

“Who knew almost _dying_ was all it took to have him all over us,” Riddler smirks. “Honestly, Ed, I think things are looking up.”

“Just because we… _slept together_ doesn’t mean everything is suddenly okay.”

Riddler groans. “Ed! You’re sapping all the fun out of this! He let us _ravish_ him. I’d say that’s a pretty damn big step.”

“We still have a long way to go,” Ed mutters blankly. There’s a lot more he could say to Riddler. That this isn’t _supposed_ to be fun. That rebuilding their relationship _can’t_ be fun, not after everything they’ve been through. He swallows the bitter taste that rises in his throat and pulls out his remote control, lengthening its antenna.

Riddler fades into the shadows once more, apparently bored.

Ed digs through the duffle bag, pulls out his phone, and dials Oswald’s number. He waits. The phone rings. And rings. And there’s no answer. Frustrated, he flips it shut, his hands beginning to tremble with anxiety. It’s okay. Oswald can handle himself. He’s the King of Gotham, for god’s sake. He doesn’t need Ed as his knight in shining armor. Still, Ed finds it difficult to shake bloody images from his mind.

_’If I don’t answer, detonate it,’ Oswald had said._

Ed stuffs the phone into his pocket and gathers up the rest of the supplies into his duffle bag. He slings it over his shoulder, giving the room a quick once-over to make sure he hasn’t left anything behind.

Then, just before slipping back upstairs to make his grand escape, he flips the little switch on the device, so that the buttons glow green. A tiny bulb on the remote lights up as well. Good, it’s in sync. His heart jumps and he grins wickedly. _This is really happening. They’re really doing this._

Ed bounds through the streets excitedly, dashing through shadows and steam rising from grates in the road. He reaches the bank surprisingly quick, heart racing and pounding heavily in his ears. He takes a moment to collect himself, to catch his breath.

This is going to be big.

Ed presses himself to the bricks behind him. Inhales, holds it. He fixes his gaze on the Siren’s club, peeking up from Gotham’s skyline. Ed pushes the button. Exhales.

There’s a low rumble, and then suddenly a massive burst of flames erupts from the roof of the club, the explosion climbing high into the night sky, illuminating the surrounding buildings. The blast shatters glass windows and chars anything close by. The Siren’s club begins to crumble, splintered wood and burned bricks collapsing in on themselves and sending the whole place to the ground. Billowing plumes of sooty smoke rise up from the blazing lounge and cloud the night, and embers drift through the air like little stars.

Ed cackles as he watches this brilliant, beautiful destruction. He knows Oswald would be pleased.

And he hears Oswald laughing from inside the bank. A wondrously devious sound that makes his own smile widen. Then the front doors are flung open and Barbara and Tabitha stagger out. Ed edges along the wall behind them and slips through the doors, just out of their line of sight. 

They’re screaming but Ed tunes it all out as soon as he sees Oswald, tied to a chair, out in the middle of the vast room. He rushes over to him quickly and quietly, pulling a knife from his pocket. Oswald’s widened eyes soften with relief as Ed circles around to face him.

“You didn’t answer my call,” Ed says in a hushed voice, hurriedly cutting through the ropes binding Oswald’s ankles. Ed winces sympathetically as he pulls the bonds away, revealing reddened, irritated skin.

“I’ve been kind of busy, Ed,” Oswald replies lowly, rolling his eyes. He stretches and rotates his freed wrists to alleviate the pain and tension, exhaling as he does.

“Are you okay?”

Oswald nods, gaze trailing away to the massive oak doors, which are left ajar in Barbara’s and Tabitha’s wake.

He rises to his feet just as Ed surges forward, kissing him with desperation. Oswald stumbles backward, hands flying out to catch on Ed’s lapels. He presses back with equal intensity. Then he pulls away urgently, eyes instantly looking to the doors again. 

“We don’t have much time, Ed. We need to go _now._ ”

Barbara is shrieking outside, faint but still recognizable. Ed’s mouth twitches into a pleased grin. 

“I will kill him! I WILL KILL HIM!” 

He hears them drawing closer. Not enough time left. Oswald is shoving him away. _Why is he shoving him away? Why is Ed letting him?_

“ _Go!_ ” Oswald hisses. “I’ll take care of this.”

Ed slides behind the teller’s desk, long legs flailing awkwardly as he hurries to conceal himself. He hides himself adequately just as the doors are flung open once more. Barbara and Tabitha strut closer, shoes clicking and echoing on the vast marble floors with menacing power. Ed squeezes his fists and prepares himself.

“Sorry about your club,” Oswald sneers, not even trying to feign sympathy.

“You’re dead, you know that?” Barbara fumes as she advances on Oswald, who chuckles with amusement. “DEAD!” She quickens her pace and reaches for the gun on her thigh holster.

Ed has one chance. He has to act _now._

Ed leaps up from behind the desk and brings his gun down hard, cracking into Barbara’s head. She screams and for a moment Ed is foolish enough to think he’s won. There’s the sound of air splitting as Tabitha whirls her whip, and then the instantaneous tightening around his ankle as she snares him and wrenches him to the ground. Oswald yells his name just as Ed hits the cold marble, his bones aching and his body weak. 

“ _Ow!_ ” Barbara cries, more annoyed at the nuisance than in pain. Agitated, she rubs at the back of her head and makes an attempt to neaten her hair. “Ugh!” she grumbles. “Why are you still alive, Nygma? You two are like cockroaches.”

Tabitha stalks closer as she hooks her whip back onto her belt. “It’s good you’re here,” she says triumphantly, now drawing her handgun with a terrifying purpose. “You’ll get to watch him die nice and slow.”

He has no time to blink before Tabitha throws up her weapon and fires, and a red hot bullet cuts through the air and drives itself into Oswald’s body.

He jolts and slumps to the floor. 

And then he doesn’t move again.

Ed can hear himself screaming. It’s so very distant, fading away like everything else. All he can see, all he can think about, is Oswald’s still body, growing colder by the second. The thing that keeps him up at night, haunting his dreams, the thing he fears most of all, has finally come true.

And all he did was watch.

Ed sobs, tears blinding him as they drop to the floor. He tries to crawl to him, stretching out his hand to reach for his, but a brutal heel cuts down into his back, pinning him to the floor. Barbara tsks at him, nestling her high heel between his vertebrae.

Tabitha struts closer to Oswald and gives him a little nudge with her foot. “That was satisfying,” she says, contented, turning to give Barbara a smile.

“I’ll bet,” Barbara replies happily. Then she directs her gaze to Ed. “Your turn!” she says cheerfully from her place above him, waving her gun patronizingly.

The next seconds are agonizingly slow- gazing upon Oswald, waiting to die, waiting to join him. He can’t even reach his hand, just to hold it one last time. The bullet cannot come quick enough.

And then Oswald’s eyes fly open. Ed’s breath stutters.

 _It can’t be- is he really?_ He gives Ed a little wink and a wicked grin. Ed’s eyes catch on a bit of black fabric that peeks out from the tattered holes of his suit. A bulletproof vest. _He’s playing possum._ Ed can barely suppress a cry of relief before he catches the quick, silver flash of a knife as Oswald plunges it into Tabitha’s leg. She screams brutally loud, staggering as Oswald drags the blade down, tearing her flesh and leaving a gushing, bloody gouge.

“Tabby!” Barbara yells, just as Oswald rips the knife from Tabitha’s leg. 

He latches onto her ankle and yanks her down hard to the floor, and she kicks at him wildly with her pointed heels. Oswald brings his knife down again, slicing into her calves relentlessly. She drives her heel back and strikes Oswald in the face viciously, making him yelp and fall back, a bloody welt reddening his forehead. Tabitha grasps his wrists painfully tight and pins him to the floor, lightning quick. 

Ed’s heart seizes. “No!” is all he shouts. Useless.

Barbara cackles now that her girlfriend has gained the upper hand. “Don’t worry, Ed sweetie. You’ll get to go soon enough,” she adjusts the position of her heel on his back, “just enjoy the show.”

Tabitha wields her own knife now and brandishes it in Oswald’s face. He’s so woozy from the kick in the head that he makes no move to stop her. “What do you think, Penguin?” she taunts, pressing the blade to Oswald’s neck. “Give your boyfriend a smile before you choke to death on your own blood?” She gives him a wicked grin.

Ed can feel himself bursting. He needs to do _something, anything._ Barbara’s shoe digs painfully into his spine. His ribs ache.

Unexpectedly, Oswald grins back at Tabitha, just as wild. Ed feels a spark in his stomach, an excitement or anticipation growing. And then he sees, clenched in Oswald’s hand, an emerald cufflink, needle-sharp. He swings his hand up suddenly, piercing Tabitha’s ear with the tiny dagger. She cries out and her hand flies up to her bleeding ear.

It’s like Ed blinks and Oswald is hovering over Tabitha. Oswald’s hands find their way to Tabitha’s neck and then he’s squeezing, fingers crushing her windpipe as she gags and chokes. Her own hands fly up, nails scratching at him. It’s no use. Oswald only grits his teeth and clasps tighter.

“No- Tabitha!” Barbara removes her heel from Ed’s back, snatches his collar with shaking hands, and drags him to his feet, nearly choking him in the process. He hears the click of a gun and then the icy touch of metal on the side of his head. She breathes harshly in his ear.

Tabitha is hopelessly trying to suck in air now. Oswald’s hands squeeze tighter.

“STOP IT!” Barbara shrieks desperately, pressing her gun firmly to Ed’s temple, claws tightening their grip on his throat. He swallows nervously. “Let. her. _go,_ ” she commands, fear in her voice, “or he dies.”

Oswald jerks his head up, eyes widening and breath catching as he understands the situation. He releases her neck, hands raising in surrender. Tabitha gasps and splutters, and then takes the opportunity to knee him in the stomach and to stagger to her feet, blood surging from her legs.

“You okay?” Barbara asks shakily, anxiety spilling into her blue eyes.

“Much better,” Tabitha replies gruffly, uncoiling her whip and tightening it around Oswald’s neck. She pulls him forcefully to his feet.

“Oswald-” Ed begins. Barbara silences him with the cold touch of metal on his head.

“‘M okay, Ed,” Oswald chokes out, clutching at the leather noose that Tabitha has looped around his throat. Blood drips from the angry gash on his forehead where Tabitha struck him with her heel.

Barbara tuts. “You boys just don’t learn, do you?” 

Ed’s eyes lock with Oswald’s. There’s a fire there, a blazing determination that somehow burns even though their luck has run out.

They begin their march of defeat to the GCPD, the barrels of Barbara’s and Tabitha’s guns relentlessly pressing into the backs of their heads, branding them. Henchwomen slip out of the shadows and prowl along behind them, holding their own weapons at the ready. Ed keeps his eyes on Oswald as long as he possibly can, trying to imprint his image into his mind. If they’re to be taken to Arkham now, he’ll need the memory of him in order to survive it. It could be a long time before they’re together again.

\-------------------------------------------------------

With guns to their heads they trudge through the dying night, watching as pink and orange hues of early morning seep into the fading charcoal sky. The looming shape of the GCPD building rises above them, warm yellow light glowing from behind its wide glass windows. Several of the henchwomen bound ahead up the stone stairs and swing open the wide front doors, letting the light come spilling out.

Ed and Oswald take heavy steps up to the doors and hesitate, knowing that the second they walk through, everything will change. Oswald gazes at him, eyebrows pinched with concern, blood still sliding down from Tabitha’s heel-print on his forehead. Ed’s stomach twists and he tries to think of something, _anything_ to say to comfort him. _Maybe we’ll both be sent to the same place. Maybe they won’t separate us. Maybe we could run away together-_

Tabitha shoves Oswald forward, breaking them apart and making him stumble, but he catches his balance in time. Ed jolts and stops himself from trying to reach for Oswald. He’ll end up getting them both killed. Barbara presses her gun almost painfully into Ed’s head, indicating that he has no choice but to keep moving.

Even this late- or rather early- the precinct is buzzing with activity: officers bustle about, passing files along, pouring themselves cup after cup of coffee. A few of them are neglecting their duties, and are instead engaged in an intense game of paper football.

Barbara clears her throat loudly and instantly all eyes turn to her. “Jim, sweetie,” she singsongs, “we got your little troublemakers! Now pay up!”

A moment of silence passes before the door to the captain’s office swings open. There’s Jim Gordon making his way to the balcony, a king emerging from his comfortable quarters to address his subjects. He stands high and mighty, hands gripping the railing as he surveys them from above. As Ed and Oswald are pushed forward, several other GCPD officers flood in around Jim, eager to watch this grand spectacle.

_Penguin and Riddler, caught at last._

Ed’s eyes land on Lucius, who stands near Jim with his brow furrowed. Their gazes meet for a moment before Lucius lowers his almost apologetically. 

“Well I’ll admit Oswald, it wasn’t easy bringing you in,” Jim begins, putting on an air of lofty pride.

Ed would love to wipe that satisfied smirk off his face with a sharp knife. He clenches his fists.

“But now that we’ve finally done it,” Jim continues, “I have to say it feels pretty gratifying.”

Oswald casts a glance at Ed that suggests he’d like to do something similarly violent to Jim.

“Oswald Cobblepot, I’m placing you under arrest on the charges of-” Jim scoffs, “Well, you know why.”

“Um, hello Jimbo? I’m here too,” Ed says, annoyed.

“You too, Nygma.”

Oswald huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Something the matter, Oswald?” Jim asks haughtily.

Oswald’s lips break into a wicked grin. “Oh, Jim,” he chuckles, “you should know better!”

Jim’s smile fades but that flicker of satisfaction remains in his eyes. “How’s that?” he asks gruffly, unmoved.

Oswald’s hand flies free of his captors and he snaps his fingers. It’s like a switch is flipped, and Ed can’t suppress a gasp. Quick as lightning and all in unison the Sirens’ lackeys draw their aim away from Ed and Oswald and press their guns to Barbara and Tabitha’s heads. Countless officers, wearing vests emblazoned with _GCPD,_ swing around and throw up their firearms, driving them right into the face of Jim Gordon and a few other policemen. It’s a sea of flashing silver metal; a glorious sight, a _victorious_ sight.

Zsasz kicks open the front doors, his own weapons raised towards Jim. “You guys left me in the back room,” he says with feigned dejection, “Rude.”

“NO!” Barbara is shrieking, stamping her heels into the floor, struggling to free herself from the hold of her own henchwomen. “You little _rats!_ I will _crush_ you!”

 _God, Oswald is brilliant._ Ed laughs, eyes alight. He feels his heart swelling with joy and admiration.

“You _always_ underestimate me!” Oswald points a patronizing finger at Jim and tuts. “And it wasn’t even _hard,_ Jim. Just a little pay raise and I was able to buy out half the GCPD!”

“That really speaks for your character,” Ed remarks with a grin. A precinct that’s already full of dirty cops makes for easy enticement, especially when it’s money that’s involved.

“You’re going to regret this, Oswald,” Jim says stiffly, although there’s a slight quiver in his voice.

Oswald hums with disregard, not at all taking Jim seriously. 

Then he turns to Barbara and Tabitha, each seething with rage. “And how could I forget your little army,” he says with a condescending flair. “Unfortunately, I _did_ have to borrow from my own savings in order to bribe them, but…” he sighs happily, “I’ll be handsomely reimbursed with what’s left of _your_ bank account.”

“You’re dead!” Tabitha snarls.

Barbara screams and lunges forward, only to be yanked back into place by her former lackeys. “I WILL KILL YOU!” she screeches, eyes burning with frightening intensity.

Oswald stretches out his arms incredulously. “Go ahead and try!” he mocks. Then he places a finger on his chin and pretends to think. “You know, you’ve tried to kill me _so many_ times but,” he giggles with delight, “you always fail!”

Ed cackles, enjoying this immensely.

“The second you close your eyes tonight, I’ll be there. I’ll slit your throat!” Tabitha hisses.

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard enough,” Oswald says with a wave of his hand. “Take them away. You know where,” he instructs his new henchwomen with a wink.

Barbara sputters. “What are you doing? Where are you taking us?!”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’ll be plenty comfortable.” He gives a flick of his wrist, summoning a few of his GCPD officers. “Take my dear friends to their new home. Make sure they share a cell. I wouldn’t want to separate such a beautiful couple,” he commands, smiling as he presses himself into Ed’s side. Ed feels Oswald’s arm slip around his middle, holding him tight. He grins slyly, quite pleased.

The first of early morning light breaks into the precinct as the heavy doors are thrown wide open. A team of Oswald’s new followers clusters there, leading Barbara and Tabitha out into the chilly air, down the cold stone steps. A black and white van waits on the curb, exhaust swirling from the tailpipe.

“Enjoy your stay in Arkham,” Ed calls out brightly. Barbara begins shrieking once more as she and Tabitha are hauled away, heels dragging and scraping across the stone as she struggles.

A surge of GCPD officers and hench-people filter out of the building, squeezing by Ed and Oswald (being careful to keep a good enough distance out of respect- or fear). Lucius is pushed forward by one of the turned officers.

“Let him go,” Ed orders. “He’s a friend.”

Lucius pulls himself out of the henchman’s grasp and smooths his hands over his shirt. “Well, I can’t say I’m really surprised,” he says, his tone almost unreadable. Ed thinks that, maybe, it borders on amusement. “You always had a flair for clever schemes.” He raises an eyebrow, gaze shifting between them.

Oswald smiles pleasantly.

“Now I don’t know how I feel about _this_ arrangement… seems like a dictatorship to me,” he says a little disapprovingly, staring pointedly at Oswald.

“I assure you, Mr. Fox, this city will be well taken care of. After all, we only want what’s best for the people!” Oswald extends his hand.

Lucius gives him a tight-lipped, uneasy smile, and reaches out to shake his hand politely.

“Thanks for everything, Foxy,” Ed says cordially, offering his own hand as well.

Lucius nods and grasps his hand firmly. He moves to brush past them, but pauses and glances back. “By the way, I’m glad you two worked everything out,” he adds, with a business-like grin but a sincere warmness. Then he’s on his way out of the building without another look back.

Ed smiles to himself. It’s rare- no, impossible- to find friends like him.

He and Oswald turn back just as Zsasz ushers Jim towards them, a gun held firmly at the back of his head. Ed’s mood instantly sours.

Oswald frowns and crosses his arms. “Things could have been amicable between us, my dear old friend. But you went and took _their_ side.”

“Oh please, Oswald,” Jim growls, “I was never actually going to grant them full immunity.”

“Of course. I should have known that. You never keep your promises.”

Ed fumes, knowing full well what Jim’s put Oswald through in the past. _Oh, you’re one to talk,_ he reminds himself.

“But it doesn’t matter now,” Oswald continues, lacing his fingers with Ed’s (which makes him release the breath he was holding). “We _own_ you, Jim. We own this whole city! Its people, its government, the GCPD…” he laughs. “You’d best play nice, now.”

“We can get rid of you at any time,” Ed adds hotly.

“That’s quite right.” Oswald gives his hand a squeeze.

Jim’s eyebrows pinch. A silent storm brews but he remains silent.

“Can we move this along?” Zsasz asks flatly. “My arm is getting tired. Guns are heavy, you know?”

Oswald nods once. Zsasz releases Jim, who brushes himself off with annoyance. Once Zsasz has slipped away, Jim glares at Oswald, as if waiting for orders. He knows it’s no use to try to resist; not here, not now.

Oswald stands taller, chest puffed out, shoulders held back, eyebrows arched. “Commissioner Gordon, you answer to us. If anything happens, we _will_ hear about it. We make the decisions. Is that understood?”

Jim grits his teeth.

“I need _verbal_ confirmation.”

“Fine. Have it your way. But,” Jim leans forward, blue eyes darkening, tone turning deathly serious, “there will be a day that this ends. You won’t win. We will always find a way to _take you down._ ” 

With that he turns away, trudging back up the stairs, shutting himself away in his office. Probably to have a drink or two. Or several. He’s to begin his new life as a puppet, a pawn for the Penguin and the Riddler.

Ed sees how Oswald watches him go, eyes glazed over, something like sadness glimmering there. He shifts uncomfortably as Oswald’s mouth twists.

They’re alone now in the silent, empty atrium of the GCPD, each tiny movement they make echoing off the vaulted ceilings and wide walls. Coffee cups have tipped over in the recent scuffle, spilling cold liquid across desks and onto the tiles. Scattered documents litter the floor, the remnants left behind by crooked officers who work for _them_ now. 

It’s so different from what it once was. Ed remembers bustling about this place as a weak-willed forensics technician, weaving in and out between the more valuable officers, staying out of the way. Unappreciated, unnoticed- except for when they _did_ notice him, when they tormented him, cast him away as an outsider.

And then Oswald Cobblepot had marched directly through those doors, commanding the attention of everyone in the room with his boldness and piercing eyes. Ed was so drawn to him, even sucking in a deep breath and tailing him just so he could exchange a word with him. It didn’t change a lot for him right then, but it would soon. Oswald would keep coming back into his life like water, ebbing and flowing, pulling him in. Ed was no longer alone and unnoticed. He had someone who appreciated him, admired him, _loved_ him.

Ed smiles. He takes another look around, just to breathe in this place. It almost feels like it was yesterday that he met Oswald in this exact spot, that Oswald brushed him off, completely unknowing of what was in store for them. 

He turns to him. “Do you remember the first time we met?” he murmurs.

Oswald’s eyes scan across the room, and he’s seemingly lost in a daze. “Yes, I remember.” Then the corners of his lips tug into the tiniest of smiles. “It was right here.”

“Remember what you told me?”

“You’re standing too close,” Oswald says wistfully, stepping towards him.

Ed gravitates closer.

Oswald’s eyes flit up briefly before quickly fixing on the floor again. “I’ve thought about that a lot,” he says sadly. “Sometimes I wish we could go back. Start over.”

“We might not have been the same people we are now.”

“Maybe that’s for the better,” Oswald laughs weakly, trying to hide his sorrow.

Ed shakes his head. “No, no. _This_ is who we are,” his tone softens just a bit more, “This is what fate has decided for us.”

“You still believe in fate?” Oswald asks, wary. “After everything?”

This gives him pause. Could fate really be so cruel yet so forgiving, so merciful, so wonderful? They’ve both been torn down so many times, ripped to shreds, even at each other’s hands. Yet here they are, rebuilt and reborn. Together.

“Yes,” Ed finally says decisively. “Yes, I do believe in fate.”

“Fate isn’t very fair, I’ve noticed.”

“Fate brought me you.”

“That’s not exactly a good thing,” Oswald gives a nervous chuckle, that same sadness still heavy in his eyes. Ed’s about to protest when Oswald continues. “Fate brought you other people you cared about. People you loved. People who never hurt you the-” his voice wavers, “-the way I did.”

“No, Oswald-”

“You could have been happy,” Oswald says softly, dropping his eyes to the floor again.

Ed sighs and gently takes his hands. “You are the only person in this world who matters to me now,” he whispers earnestly. “ _You_ make me happy.”

“I’m broken, Ed. How do you know you’ll even want me at the end?” Oswald gazes into his eyes, looking much more powerful than he’s been in a long long time, even though he’s resigned himself to the possibility that Ed can’t live with someone like him. Someone who spends his days in heavy silence and his nights with his cheek pressed to a soaked pillow. Someone depressed. Someone suicidal.

Ed knows he can’t fix Oswald. He can’t love all of his pain away, can’t make him suddenly see that life is worth living. But he can be there for him, can kiss him and hold his hand and walk with him in the dark.

They’ll be stronger together.

“I want all of you, Oswald,” he says. “You are the strongest person I know, even after everything. We _will_ get through this. Together.” Oswald’s eyes are gentle yet sad. Ed takes his hand and brings it to his lips. “I hope you know, Oswald, that I will do anything for you. Anything.”

Oswald reaches up and swipes a thumb over Ed’s cheek. “I love you, Ed,” he says, his voice raw with emotion, “I really do.” Then he leans up on his toes and claims Ed’s lips, pressing against him softly and sweetly. Ed winds an arm around him to keep him close. They hold each other for what feels like an eternity, hands and lips tender, gentle touches heavenly and sweet. They part slowly, bodies still drawn together, each breathing a sigh of relief. 

“I love you so much,” Ed whispers back, feeling his eyes well with joyful tears.

Oswald smiles for the first time in a long time. Not one of malice or viciousness, but a real, genuine smile, his cheeks glowing pink and his eyes softening and sparkling. 

And it’s the most incredible sight Ed’s ever seen.

He kisses an even wider smile onto Oswald’s face, never wanting it to fade. Oswald chuckles against Ed’s mouth and Ed doubts he’ll be able to let go now. His hands slide up to cup Ed’s face and he presses their lips firmly together.

They pull apart for a breath. Oswald’s fingers lace with his own. “Come, my dear Edward. We have a city to rule.”

Ed gives his hand a gentle squeeze, heart swelling as he does. This is sure to be wonderful. They turn towards the doors, the golden sunrise peeking up over the horizon, filling the room with brightness. The two share a gaze, eyes filling with anticipation, with hope.

And they walk, hand in hand, hearts beating as one, into the beautiful ruins of their new world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are at the end! This was originally supposed to be a one shot, and then it was going to be about 2 chapters, but look what happened! Thanks so much for reading, for commenting and leaving kudos. It kept me going! 
> 
> And don't worry about Barbara and Tabitha... I'm sure they'll take over Arkham and make their grand escape!


End file.
